Tallie's Knight

by Anna Gracie

  good wife to Magnus, wanted so much for him to be proud of her, to

  respect her--even, perhaps, to learn to love her, just a little. He

  wanted a child, that much she knew. perhaps he would come to care for

  her if she gave him one.

  She lay in the dark, enjoying the feel of her husband's arm draped

  heavily across her, his chest and torso pressed against her back, one

  long, hairy leg thrust between hers. Sleepily she wondered whether she

  was increasing, and, if so, how she would know.

  The princess gazed out through her prison bars, straining for a sight,

  a sound to indicate that someone was coming to rescue her. But all she

  could see or hear were the happy celebrations of the townspeople far

  below her. There would be no rescue today for the princess. She would

  have to remain here, in the highest turret of the Callous Count's

  castle. But wait, what was that scraping sound? She turned again to

  the high, barred window. A muscular hand reached out and effortlessly

  plucked the bars, one, two, three, from the window.

  "Tallie, my love," a thrillingly deep masculine voice called. She ran

  to the window and looked out. There, clinging to a rope, was her

  handsome outlaw prince, his dark hair blowing in the breeze, his grey

  eyes glinting. No! Not grey! Blue eyes, perhaps, or brown or

  green--anything except grey! People with grey eyes were selfish. And

  disobliging. And horrid!

  Tallie sat fuming in a chair by the window of her hotel room, glaring

  out. Outside were people and noise and activity such as she'd never

  seen or heard before in her life. She shifted restlessly in her seat

  and punched a cushion into a more comfortable shape.

  Outside was a thrilling concoction of smells and sights and sounds that

  shrieked Paris! She bounced up and paced angrily around the room.

  Outside was a huge, exotic city, and she'd never in her life been in a

  city. And where was she? Stuck inside a stuffy parlour, that was

  where, under orders from her stuffy husband not to venture out until he

  gave her leave! And where was hell Outside, that was where! Exploring

  this wondrously exciting city. For the last four hours! While she was

  forced to wait.

  It wasn't fair. He'd muttered something about preparations to make

  before she was ready for Paris and gone out into the city himself,

  needing, apparently, no preparations for his magnificent self! Leaving

  her with nothing better to do than study Sinderby. A guidebook. When

  the real thing was just outside her door! She snatched up the cushion

  and hurled it at the door in frustration.

  "Oops! Sorry," she gasped as the object of her fury ducked, regarded

  her with a raised eyebrow and then closed the door carefully behind

  him. His face was utterly impassive and Tallie's spirits sank. He was

  The Icicle once more. Ignoring the cushion at his feet, Magnus came

  forward and presented her with a large brown paper parcel, tied with

  string.

  "A modiste will be here within the hour to fit you out with some decent

  clothes. You will need to don these before she arrives." He strolled

  over to the window, glanced out into the street, then opened up a news

  sheet and began reading it, quite as if he had nothing more to say to

  her.

  Tallie, clutching the parcel to her bosom, stared at him, suddenly

  confused. Part of her wanted to rail at him for leaving her for such a

  long time with nothing to do, but the large, squashy parcel in her arms intrigued her. A gift? She could not

  remember the last time anyone had given her a gift. Only her wedding

  pearls. And now, a gift for no reason. With trembling fingers she

  unknotted the string and spread open the wrapping. Soft, silken things

  dripped from her fingers and slithered to the floor.

  "Ohhh," she gasped, enchanted. She bent and lifted them. A

  chemise--no, six, in soft, silky material. And petticoats, in fine

  lawn and muslin, trimmed with lace. Silk stockings, dozens of

  them--silk. And six finely embroidered nightgowns, so thin and fine and

  delicate you could almost see through them. She had never seen the

  like, except once, on a friend of her cousin's. And. good gracious!

  She picked the last few items up and frowned in confusion. These were

  surely not for her. But they, too, were made of the finest, most

  delicate lawn. pink lawn. Tallie fingered the garments, stunned.

  They could not possibly be for her husband, for they had lace on them,

  and besides, they were too small for him. But she had never worn such

  things. never heard of such things, except in a scandalised whisper.

  Not even Laetitia wore garments like these.

  "I cannot wear these," she whispered.

  Magnus did not turn his head.

  "Of course you can. You will oblige me by retiring to your chamber and

  donning them immediately, madam. The modiste is coming."

  Madam. Tallie gathered up the clothing and left the room, feeling

  mutinous. The first true gift she had received in years and was she

  allowed to be excited about it? No, she must be silent and obedient

  and don them 'immediately, madam," for we would not wish to

  inconvenience an unknown French modiste, would we? Madam.

  In her chamber, she stripped off her clothes and quickly slipped into

  one of the new chemises and a petticoat, savouring the cool, silken

  feel of them against her skin. The chemise was close-fitting, with

  gussets under the arms and side gussets to accommodate the flare of her

  hips. The neckline was extremely low and edged with a tiny frill of

  lace. The petticoat was long and straight, made of fine, sheer muslin.

  It was almost like wearing nothing at all. She felt very daring and

  sophisticated.

  She glanced at the other garments on the bed. Drawers! For a woman!

  Pink ones, with fine French lace around each knee. She had never seen

  anything so scandalous in her life. Drawers were male attire. For a

  female to wear them would be truly shocking. Miss Fisher would have

  fainted at the very notion. Tallie picked up the drawers and held them

  against her. She ought not to. but her husband had instructed her to

  wear them.

  Quickly she bent, and with some difficulty she pulled on the drawers.

  They felt very peculiar. She had never felt her bottom and legs so

  enclosed, so restricted. It was indeed very shocking. Tallie rather

  liked the feeling.

  But however would she manage when she had to. She pulled the drawers

  away from her body and peered down inside them. Good heavens!

  There was a slit. How very shocking! But practical, she supposed.

  A knock on the door made her dart behind the screen in a panic.

  "Qui est-ce-que?"

  The door opened. It was her husband.

  "I came to see whether the... er... things fitted."

  Tallie, blushing, nodded from behind the safety of her screen.

  "Yes, thank you. They do."

  "Well, let me see them," he said a little impatiently.

  Blushing furiously, Tallie took a deep breath and stepped out from

  behind the screen.

  Magnus's eyes narrowed as he took in the picture of his bride dressed

&
nbsp; in nothing but fine undergarments. His mouth dried as he noted the way

  the fine silk of the chemise did nothing to hide the creamy swell of

  her breasts or the faint dark pink of her small thrusting nipples. He

  dropped his gaze to her hips and frowned in surprise, as he saw what

  appeared to be pink drawers under her petticoat.

  He had not actually selected the garments himself, had simply given the

  manageress of the establishment an order for the finest, most

  fashionable underclothes Paris could provide. So the drawers were a

  shock. He had heard that some women were wearing them, not just women

  of the demimondaine-ladies, too, but these were the first he had

  seen.

  "Take off your petticoat," he said in a deep, husky voice. Tallie

  undid the tapes, took a deep breath, closed her eyes and dropped the

  petticoat. It pooled in a whisper around her feet.

  Magnus felt all the breath leave his body at the sight of his wife

  dressed in intimate male attire. A feminised version of male attire,

  to be sure, but. no male had ever looked like that. He had never seen

  anything so erotic in his life. The drawers were gathered at her knees

  and he wondered how far he could run his hands up inside them.

  The delicate material hugged her thighs and her skin glowed beneath the

  fine weave. The drawers bunched slightly at the apex of her thighs

  over a shadowy, unmistakably feminine vee shape, and then pulled

  tighter against the slight swell of her stomach.

  "Turn around," he said huskily. Slowly she turned, her eyes still

  clenched shut. Magnus stared. The drawers hugged her rounded bottom

  and hips and suddenly he longed to see her bending over.

  "You have dropped your new petticoat on the floor," he said hoarsely,

  and she bent to gather it up. The material pulled tight across her

  bottom and Magnus could stand no more. He embraced her from behind,

  running caressing hands up over her body, cupping her breasts, moulding

  them, seeking out the hardening nipples.

  "Magnus!" Tallie squeaked in surprise.

  "It is the daytime." Ignoring that, he turned her in his arms and

  lifted her onto the bed, his hands feverishly exploring her

  scandalously clothed body. He ran his palms up under the knees and

  gloried in the smooth, satiny feel of her thighs. He bent down and

  suckled her hard pink nipples through the silk of the chemise and felt

  her shudder beneath him. He ran his hands down over her backside and

  up between her legs.

  "Aha!" he exclaimed triumphantly as he found the slit. His hands

  caressed her and he frowned as he felt her stiffen.

  "But you said the modiste was coming soon," said his wife through

  gritted teeth.

  "Damn the modiste!" He caressed her more gently, determined she would,

  this time, participate in his passion.

  "But--' " The modiste can wait! " he growled, annoyed with her

  hesitation. He continued to stroke and caress her with one hand,

  fumbling with his own clothes until he was free of their restraint, and

  then passion overcame his control and he surged into her and was lost.

  Tallie clenched her teeth and hung on, determined she would not

  disgrace him by moving or calling out. It was getting harder and

  harder for her to behave as she knew she should. Her husband's desire

  for her thrilled her, and she probably would have wept with joy--if

  only she didn't have to concentrate so hard on controlling her own

  recalcitrant body. But it was so very exciting. Tallie locked her

  legs into a stiff line and repeated the usual words over and over in

  her head. It was the only way she could concentrate on her duty to

  him.

  The rest of the day passed in a whirl. The modiste. Mademoiselle

  Celestine, arrived--luckily a little late--with an entourage of

  assistants who draped, pinned, snipped and pulled as they discussed,

  with much hand-waving and Gallic imprecation, exactly how milady should

  be attired. Tallie was utterly scandalised by the new French fashions.

  They seemed to her to consist of nothing but a few wisps of gauze or

  muslin, and she felt almost naked wearing them. But the modiste and

  her assistants laughed and assured her everything was perfectly comme

  il faut, and milady didn't wish to appear dowdy, did she?

  Tallie looked doubtfully down at her almost naked chest and the

  transparent veil of embroidered muslin covering the rest of her and

  thought that milady might indeed prefer to be dowdy if that was the

  only alternative. It was one thing to appear almost naked in front of

  her husband--she was becoming accustomed to that--but she could not

  imagine wearing these. these little wispy things out in public. But

  she was assured she must, absolument, and she supposed when in Rome. or

  Paris. However, at that point Magnus entered the room.

  "Just thought I'd see how--' He came to an abrupt halt, took one long,

  burning look at Tallie's flimsy new gown and snapped, " No! It will

  not do. Not at all. "

  "Oh, but, mil or--' began Mademoiselle Celestine.

  He strode forward and felt the fine embroidered muslin in long,

  disdainful fingers.

  "Too thin, too flimsy. Shoddy goods."

  "Mais, non, mil'or gasped Mademoiselle Celestine, horrified.

  "It is of the very finest--' " No matter. " He brushed off her

  explanations.

  "I should have made my requirements clearer. My wife requires much

  thicker clothing than this." He flicked the material scornfully.

  "You would not think it to look at her, but she has a very delicate

  constitution--' Tallie gasped in indignation.

  "She catches cold at the slightest draught and I will not allow her to

  risk her health for the sake of mere a la modalite No, mademoiselle I

  wish Lady d'Arenville to be warmly and decently clothed, with

  high-necked gowns in thick, warm fabric."

  And he marched out, leaving Tallie fuming. A sickly constitution

  indeed! This from the man who'd called her sturdy! And how dared he

  criticise all her old clothes and then give the modiste orders to

  ensure she looked just as dowdy in her new ones? Suddenly Tallie felt

  perfectly comfortable with the new French fashions, flimsy or not.

  "You will ignore my husband, if you please, Mademoiselle Celestine.

  Men do not have the least idea of fashion," she said firmly.

  "The gowns will be as we agreed."

  Mademoiselle Celestine smiled knowingly.

  "Ah, but you play with fire, milady. Alors. Perhaps we make the

  necklines a little higher, heW. And then we take a slip, like so." She

  took out an opaque underdress and held it up.

  "Many women wear flesh-coloured stockings also. And of course there

  are your beautiful pink drawers, quite warm enough for the most fragile

  constitution, and yet, when the gentlemen look, they see only the

  colour of flesh... and they wonder... ah, oui, they wonder..." She

  laughed and pulled a very expressive face.

  "Tres chic and yet tres respectable, so your so-jealous husband is

  almost--but not quite--happy. Husbands must be taught their place,

  non? She and her assistants laughed again.


  Tallie smiled vaguely, distracted by the modiste's words. Her jealous

  husband? That could not be right, surely. Still, he had told all

  those dreadful lies about her delicate constitution. She felt a small

  glow in the region of her heart. It was a start, perhaps. By the time

  the modiste and her chattering assistants finally left, promising to

  have a beautiful gown ready for her by the morning, and many more au

  plus tot, Tallie felt exhausted.

  However, her husband had not simply arranged a modiste but also a

  hairdresser, Monsieur Raymondo, a small, dapper man with an elegant

  waxed moustache. He prowled around her shrinking form a dozen times,

  muttering under his breath, bunching her hair this way and that and

  exclaiming in raptures over its texture and natural curl. Magnus

  ventured into the room just as the hairdresser picked up his

  scissors.

  "Don't you dare shear off all that beautiful hair!" he roared, and

  Monsieur Raymondo dropped his scissors in fright. A long discussion

  ensued over exactly how much Magnus would tolerate being cut off.

  Tallie took no part in it; she was in a small, happy daze of her own.

  Beautiful hair! He had lied about her fragility, now this, about her

  very ordinary hair.

  In the end Magnus and Monsieur Raymondo reached a compromise. Short,

  feathery curls would cluster around her face, while the rest remained

  quite long. It would please her husband, yet still have the required