by Georgia Fox
The two women stood in the small, cramped storage room and surveyed one another thoughtfully. Whore and lady were curious about each other, it seemed, in their own ways and for their own reasons.
"I want you to show me what to do," Ami explained abruptly to the whore. "I want you to show me how to please my husband."
Morwenna lolled against a barrel and gave a sultry laugh. "Is that so, my lady?"
"I know you have experience with him."
"Experience? Not with your husband, my lady."
Ami sighed and folded her arms. "I know he sent for you yesterday. What did he want?"
"Aye, you tell my mistress," Villette hissed through the wooden slats of the door, "or I'll pull your hair, hussy."
"Villette! You will not listen."
"Yes, mistress."
"Go away from the door."
"But you said to wait—"
"For pity's sake, walk ten steps from where you are now and wait there."
Morwenna was gazing at her in mild bemusement. Then she said, "He sent for me before the wedding to tell him which tunic to wear. Apparently I was the only wench whose opinion he dare ask." She broke off in a husky chuckle. "I would have preferred him without tunic, but he was in no mood to flirt with me. He had other things on his mind..." She flicked her long curls over her shoulder and winked at Ami. "...other women."
It would have been proper to reprimand the whore for speaking in such familiar terms, but then she had just asked the woman for advice on coitus with her husband, so she could hardly afford to be picky or precious. "You expect me to believe he called for you to give him advice on his attire?"
"Said he needed a female perspective," Morwenna replied, leaning both elbows now on the barrel top, her abundant bosom resting between them, pushed forward and upward like two bald-headed babes in a sack. "I'm an older woman, been around the place—here and there—I have an eye for a well-clad fellow. My reputation precedes me, I'm told." The whore was proud, evidently, of being asked her opinion. Her eyes shone like wet coal as she chuckled again. "I hope you like the tunic he wore, my lady. I picked it for the color to accentuate those fine blue eyes of his."
Ami realized, chagrinned, that she had paid no attention to his tunic yesterday, too nervous, too caught up in her jealousy over Elsinora.
"He did not even seem to know his eyes were so blue until I told him. Don't suppose a fellow like that ever looks at his own reflection, eh?"
No, she thought, he would not. In all likelihood he had no idea how handsome he was.
Her shoulders relaxed a little. "Will you tell me ... what I should do?"
Morwenna rolled her eyes and gestured with her fingers together. "Lay still and think of the chinks."
"She means coin, mistress," Villette called through the door, assuming it required translation.
"Ten steps, Villette," she shouted back, annoyed.
"Yes, mistress."
This time she listened and thought she heard the maid walk away across the flagstone floor.
Again she looked at Morwenna. "But I want to play a more active role. I don't want him to always be in control. Sometimes I want to take it. The bed, it seems, is the one place where a woman can lead."
The whore finally became interested. She tilted her head to one side and surveyed Ami with a longer, more thorough perusal. "Aye. You're a brave one then."
"Perhaps. Show me some tricks." Although she'd never thought it would matter to her, Ami wanted to keep his interest in the bed chamber, but she also wanted him to forget Elsinora. It struck her like the blow of a lance. She didn't want to live with the ghost of an old love between them. She'd expected nothing, wanted nothing.
Until she met Stryker and he held her hand.
That simple touch had been her undoing, when she was so determined to remain collected, detached, Ami the Unbreakable.
"I suppose I can show you this." Morwenna reached for a carrot from a sack beside her. She held it up in the light of Ami's candle. "Now imagine this is his—"
"It's bigger than that."
Morwenna eyes looked around the candle and focused on her face.
"Much larger,” Ami added.
"Aren't you a lucky bitch." The whore laughed, tossed the carrot down and retrieved a parsnip instead. "This will have to do. 'Tis the largest one here. Now," she held it up and cupped the base in her hand, "these are his balls..." Morwenna began to demonstrate her craft.
But suddenly the door crashed open and there stood Stryker Bloodaxe. They'd had no warning, although Villette was close by, gripping her apron to her lips.
"What the devil is going on here?" he demanded, his furious gaze going from Morwenna to his wife and back again.
The whore had been so startled that she bit the end of the parsnip off in her mouth and now she spat it out into her hand. "Don't do that, my lady," she whispered wryly.
"Well?" Stryker demanded again, filling the door frame, towering over them both. "I wait for an explanation, Lady Amias."
"I wanted her to teach me," Ami said boldly. No point beating about the bushes, she thought. There were not many explanations she could make for being found in a store cupboard with a whore sucking a parsnip. She lifted her candle and said brightly, "Did you have a good hunt, my husband?"
****
He could not believe his eyes. Then his ears. Every sense, it seemed, was failing him. He grabbed his wife by her long sleeve and pulled her out of the store cupboard. "We will discuss this in private."
He caught her tossing a scowl at her maid as they walked out of the cookhouse and into the brisk air. "And don't be angry with that girl," he snapped. "I found her outside and asked her where you were. She could hardly refuse to tell me just to save your hide."
"Save my hide?" she exclaimed, her eyes flashing with angry sparks. "I did nothing wrong." She swung around to her maid. "Ten steps, Villette?" she hissed. "Ten steps and you were outside?"
The maid shrugged guiltily, fidgeting with her apron. "I can't count past five, mistress. I made the rest up."
"Then you should have counted five twice girl!"
"Twice?"
"Two fives are ten." Ami held her hands to her head. "Lord save me from these imbeciles!"
Villette burst into tears.
Stryker had no idea what they were talking about, but he did know he could not have his lady wife learning tricks from a whore. What on earth was she thinking? He grabbed her arm again and drew her quickly along. "You will not consort with women like that whore."
"I told you," she pulled her arm from his grip. "I wanted her to show me how to pleasure you."
He was completely nonplussed. "You don't need to please me, woman." Stryker meant that she already pleased him enough, but before he could explain further she shouted over him.
She didn't believe him, apparently. Flinging out her arms, the sleeves fluttering like bat's wings, she huffed and puffed angrily. "Of course, you want me to remain a novice so you will always be in charge, the dominant master to my submissive slave."
Luckily there was no one else standing in the yard at that moment. It was such a cold morning that his men all took shelter inside by fires. Even Villette, who usually stuck to her mistress like a furry, round seed pod after a walk in long grass, had run off to leave them alone with their quarrel.
Stryker tried to follow his bride's mad ravings, but the few women he'd known always confused him when they trotted off into wild paths of fantasy. "You are not my slave."
"I might as well be! Now you embarrassed me before the whore and all those who saw you treat me like a child in there. I thought only of making you content. I wonder why I bothered."
"Calm down, woman." Perhaps he had acted too hastily, but when a man came home from hunting and found his new wife shut away in a dark store cupboard with someone else, it was only natural he want to know what she did in there and with whom. "You do not need the tricks of a whore," he said firmly. "You are my lady wife. You're not supposed to know
things like that."
"What's the matter, barbarian? Can't have a wife that knows what she's doing in bed? What are you afraid of?"
"I fear naught, wench!" He folded his arms high over his chest and spread his feet, his stance proud.
Her eyes gleamed. They were even more beautiful in that moment and he fell into that deep brown heat, pulled down into it like a lost man stumbling into quicksand. "It's all well and good for you to seek her advice on your apparel," she exclaimed, "but I cannot do so for my reasons."
"What's allowed for a man is not always allowed for a woman. It is the way of the world."
"Last night," she reminded him, pointing a finger into his chest, "you said the bed was one place you and I could be equal."
Staring down at her angry face, he contemplated her words and the whirlpools of fury in her exquisite, challenging eyes. He had a feeling that whatever he said, she would still be angry now. The woman was too far in. Her pride was hurt and she lashed out at him. But surely he had a right to his anger. She had none. "Mayhap I did say that." He raised one hand to slowly rub his chin. "When a man is up to his bollocks in tight hot pussy, he'll say anything the woman wants to hear."
Her lips parted. A crisp cloud of breath formed before her face. "Of course, all I am to you is the bride purse. It does not matter if I lay like a dead thing in bed. You'll still get what you want out of this."
He squinted. "Is that not what we both agreed two nights ago? I get my money and you get a husband to save you from spinsterhood."
She'd told him her expectations could not be any lower. Yet now she went to these extraordinary lengths to "please" him in bed. His head struggled to make sense of it.
"If that is not what you wanted," he added, "you should have been honest with me."
"I was!" Were those tears in her eyes, or did they simply smart from the cold?
Stryker stepped toward her, but she stepped back, away from him.
"I didn't know then," she murmured. And then, her head down, she walked inside the hall. Just like that.
The sentence seemed unfinished, but she left it there as if she lost her will to speak suddenly. Or she thought she'd said too much. Or did not know how to finish it. They were both confused.
Stryker watched her go, annoyed with himself for losing his temper. Annoyed with her for thinking she needed lessons of that nature. His heart pinched to see her walk away, head bowed, long hair dancing in the wind. Throughout the hunt that morning he'd thought of his wife waiting for him at home. Leaving her in the bed that morning had been one of the hardest things he'd ever done. Usually even the bitter winter weather didn't trouble him, because he enjoyed the excitement of the hunt and knew his horse was restless in the stable, eager to be off. However sluggish he was when he woke, as soon as he was in the saddle vitality burst through his veins and howled through his blood.
But today he'd been distracted, thinking over their wedding night, impatient to see her again. It was almost as if he'd expected her to be gone when he returned. In truth, he realized, he could not quite believe his luck. He had a woman of his own at last. She was beautiful. intelligent and witty. Her presence pleased him, even when they argued. Stryker had not realized how lonely he was, until she came to share his bed and his life.
Now he wanted to run after Amias and put his arms around her. Unfortunately he was bloody and sweaty. She would only shake him off and curse that he was uncouth again.
Would she?
He no longer knew anything for sure. Could so much have changed for them both in just eight and forty hours?
****
It was not long before she realized Villette was missing. Once she cooled down from her quarrel with Stryker she made a search of the manor, expecting to find the fool girl sulking in a corner, or with Ifyr.
The afternoon air felt slightly mellower than it was in the morning, but all was very still, as if waiting for something. Dogs and men hunkered down around fires. The horses, washed down after the hunt, were in the stable, covered with blankets and munching their feed. Only the cookhouse saw much activity, as the servants prepared supper. No one had seen Villette.
Ami thought of going to Stryker, but her pride was still to raw to approach him. Surely the girl hadn't wandered far. She was no adventuress.
Crossing the yard again, she spied Ifyr by a brazier, warming his hands. As she drew nearer, sparks flew up and he stamped them out under his boots. He looked surprised when she came up behind him.
"My lady." He bowed.
At least he wasn't drunk today, she mused. "Have you seen my maid, Villette?"
He frowned. "I saw her an hour ago. Not since."
Ami shivered, a sense of foreboding sparking inside her like the flames of the brazier. "Where was she then?"
He rubbed his hands together. "She spoke of going up on the moor to find heather. Wanted me to go with her. I told her it was too cold and like to snow."
Her fear multiplied quickly. "You let her wander off alone?"
"No, my lady. I told her to go inside the hall. I said I would take her tomorrow if the snow did not come."
Desperate, Ami looked out toward the high timber gates. Although guarded now and closed, they had been wide open for a while after the hunt returned. But would Villette go off alone, even after Ifyr warned her?
Unfortunately, yes, she was stupid enough. In addition, she probably thought her mistress was still angry with her and she knew heather was one of Ami's favorite flowers. Even as she thought this, the first flakes of snow began to fall. She remembered the uneven ground she'd crossed yesterday on horseback with Stryker. The moor was a place of stark beauty, but it was also treacherous. A person with no experience of the terrain could soon lose their way and falling snow would not help matters.
Ami remembered her conversation with Villette the night before last.
"I saw heather on the moor, my lady. I shall gather some for you."
"Make sure you take a guard. That moor is not a safe place for a girl alone."
"Yes, mistress."
Yes, mistress. How many times did the silly girl say that in one day and yet it meant nothing. Nine times out of ten—or nine times out of two fives, she thought grimly—Villette spoke the words by rote without actually meaning to obey. She said "Yes, mistress" to appease and then did whatever she wanted. It was Ami's fault for being so lax and careless with her training.
"I am responsible for that girl," she murmured. "If anything happens to her—"
"We should rouse the alarm, my lady. I'll fetch the master."
"No!" She seized his arm. "She can't have gone far." If they roused the whole manor and then found Villette huddled under a tree just a few yards away she would feel like an idiot again. It would give Stryker further cause to be irritated with her. "She can't have gone so far."
"But my lady—"
"Saddle my horse and I'll search for her."
Ifyr looked grim.
"Don't argue with me, young man. Would you leave that poor, helpless girl out there to freeze?"
"No, of course," he exclaimed as if wounded by the suggestion. "She's a sweet girl. I wouldn't want any harm to come to her." Glancing over at the gates he shook his head, dislodging fat flakes of snow from his hair. "Very well. I'd best come with you."
Although she would never admit it, Ami was relieved he decided to go with her. Mayhap the young man was not so bad after all. He was a man. They all had their faults.
****
In half an hour the snow was a thick, feathery blanket falling so fast that the ground was already covered, the tree limbs left naked by autumn wind, now clad again in ermine. All was silent. Even the horses’ hooves fell with a softened thud, barely discernable above her harsh breaths and the heartbeat pounding, echoing in her ears.
They left the border of oaks behind and started out onto the high moor, but they'd not gone far before the snow was blinding and Ifyr turned his horse to face her. "If she's this far out, we'll not find her until
the blizzard eases."
"We must!" She was horrified at the idea of leaving Villette out in that storm.
"My lady, this is madness. I must think of protecting you now. I cannot let you go further." He made a reach for her bridle, but she pulled her horse around his. Once again her skills on horseback stood her in good stead.
"Are you too cowardly to go on?" she demanded. "Then leave me. Go back to the manor."
Ifyr screwed up his face, breathing heavily as snow spat in his face, filled his eyelashes and landed on his nose. "My lady, I won’t go back and leave you. Please come. The master will be angry already."
"I will certainly not leave my maid out here alone." She looked into the white wall of snow, as if she could actually see her path through it. "I came up here yesterday with your master. I'm sure I can find my way to that stone hovel. If Villette has any sense," she paused and winced, "if she has any sense she will have found the place and taken shelter there. Go back to the manor and let your master know—"
"My lady, you have no idea how deep the snow can get here on the moor. With this wind there will be drifts. The horse could stumble."
"For pity's sake I have seen snow before. I know how to ride a horse and yes, I can take care of myself. I did not live in a cushioned cell, eat honeyed figs all day, shoot peasants for sport and shit pearls before I came here, whatever your master thinks."
Ifyr's jaw dropped and snowflakes landed on his tongue.
"Now go back," she shouted.
Still he sat on his horse, his head turning one way and then the other, clearly torn. While he was trapped by indecision, Ami steered her horse on into the snow and began to call out for Villette, her voice savagely beaten back by the wind. No doubt he would think her fool-headed, but how could she ever forgive herself if Villette died out there? Her last words to the poor girl had been harsh, driven out by her own anger that should have been directed elsewhere.
Lord save me from these imbeciles!
Ifyr was probably thinking the same thing at that moment.