Then he said he wished to buy a gift for a friend who was a dwarf, since he had come by some money. The shopkeeper merely nodded and looked thoughtful. He had been surprised by Telor’s taste, which seemed more like that of a rich burgher than a man-at-arms, but any client who paid with such indifference was entitled to any quirks of character or friends he liked. Telor had expected to be told such garments must be made to the special measure of their wearer or to receive only a shrug or shake of the head, but the man recommended another shop where the owner had obtained the clothes of a very old and even more old-fashioned Englishman, who had died.
“I do not know your friend as you do,” he said as he folded Telor’s new garments into the old, shabby cloak that had been rolled behind one of the saddles and Telor swung the new cloak over his shoulders, “but the tunics are very short, not much below the hip, so they may fit—if the garments have not yet been picked apart.”
He accompanied Telor out to where his horse was tied and helped fasten the bundle of clothing behind the saddle, bowing as Telor mounted and asking him to be sure he told the second shopkeeper who had recommended his place. Telor agreed readily, and fortunately the old man had been fat with age. Although the tunics had been cut to fit swollen limbs and a deep paunch, the extra cloth would also give room to Deri’s broad-muscled chest and arms.
There was only one drawback—this old man had apparently been wealthy as well as fat. All the garments were of the finest cloth and richly embroidered. That could make trouble in several ways, Telor feared, but he knew Deri’s stubbornness. If Deri had determined to go out, he would, and to go in the armor he was wearing or in torn clothes stained with old blood would be far more dangerous than wearing the rich tunic. Then Telor smiled and chose not only a shirt and tunic but a short cloak. It had occurred to him that with Lord William and doubtless other knights in the town, it was less likely men would think Deri stole his garments and his gold than that he was a very rich man’s plaything. That would assure Deri’s safety and might even further his purpose of finding a woman, since few would dare offend a dwarf dressed in a gold-embroidered tunic and furred cloak lest he complain to his master. With that in mind, Telor picked out the very richest cloak and since he was buying both, got a better price.
It was a tremendous relief to feel that Deri would have some protection, since Telor really did not want the dwarf staying in the room with him and Carys. He realized the best chance for arousing her enough to let him take her was what Deri had offered—a soft pallet in the privacy of a closed room, and now he could seize that chance without guilt.
None of the stables Telor passed could take their horses, and his compulsion to get back to Carys would not let him spend more time to seek out others. When he came to a stable close to the street where the cookshop was, Telor bought a sack of grain and a truss of hay to carry back with him. By then he noticed that nearly all the torches marking shops were out, counters drawn in and shutters fastened. There was just barely enough light from those shops where customers were still chaffering for him to recognize the side street where the cookshop was.
Surely it was too late to seek Lord William that night, Telor told himself, especially if he had to take the time to change his clothes. A twinge of guilt disturbed his rising spirits. He knew quite well there would be guards awake in the lord’s lodging who could take his name and perhaps save him hours of waiting the next day. But why should he save the hours, he asked himself. He had nowhere to go and nothing to do; with plenty of money and no need to perform, he had time enough to wait Lord William’s convenience, whereas if Carys fell asleep before he came back and he had to wake her, she might be cross and unwilling—and he had promised that if she said him nay, he would not press her.
He was half convinced before he reached the cookshop, and when Carys came flying down the ladder from the loft above the shop as he rode into the yard, he did not give Lord William another thought. He almost fell off his horse in his eagerness to dismount, and striding forward, he clutched her to him, uncaring of what the cook might think if he looked out his back door and saw them.
“What is wrong?” he whispered.
“Nothing,” Carys replied with a nervous laugh, but her voice shook. “I do not know what ails me. I just cannot rid myself of a terrible feeling that some great ill will befall us, and all the time you were away I felt you were in trouble…Oh, Telor, I am afraid, so afraid, and I do not know of what.”
Telor kissed her hair and stroked her back gently. He could not help wondering if what she feared was the coupling that she must think was inevitable now, but he did not want to plant the idea openly in her mind if she was hiding it from herself. All he said, in a cheerful tone, was, “But here I am, back safe, as you can see. Come, let us attend to the horses before we go in.”
“You are not going out again?” she asked, seeming to hold her breath.
Telor tightened his grip on her just a trifle, wondering whether she wanted him to go, but he would not offer her the assurance he feared she desired. Then he shook his head and released her, and saw to his surprise that she was smiling tremulously. And when she told him that Deri had rubbed down the three horses now tied in the yard, her voice was steadier than it had been and her quick breathing had slowed. He would have been satisfied, if she had not kept peeping at him as they unsaddled his mount and rubbed it down, piled the hay where all the animals could reach it, and set out grain for each. There was water enough in a trough-like wooden thing—Telor had no idea what its true purpose was—also set where all the horses could reach it, so he turned to take the saddle to the shed where Carys indicated the others were stored, and saw that both bundles of new clothes were gone.
Carys seemed so much more cheerful after being busy for a time that Telor was afraid to renew her fears—in case they had not been of him—by explaining to Deri his idea that the dwarf should claim to be a powerful man’s “fool.” Perhaps, he thought, cheered by the fact that Carys came without any sign of reluctance when he said it was time to go up, the same notion would occur to Deri on his own. In any case, when he and Carys had climbed up to the loft, a single glance around as soon as his eyes adjusted to the relatively bright light of several candles showed that Deri had already gone. The candles also made an easy first subject to remove any awkwardness that might rise from being alone in a private bedchamber. Telor gestured around and asked about the lavish illumination.
“I was frightened, so I lit them all,” Carys said with a slight shudder, but then she smiled, and this time her lips did not tremble. “The men-at-arms must have left them, thinking their friends would have the place.”
“Are you afraid of me, Carys?” Telor asked softly. “I promise there is no need. Dearling, no matter how strong my desire, I will not force you. I do not forget that I swore yea or nay would be yours to say. I will keep my oath.”
He put out his hand but did not touch her, although they were close, and was puzzled because for an instant she looked startled, not fearful but surprised. And then she laid her hand in his.
“I will say yea, then,” she murmured, watching his face, “for men who keep other promises often do not keep those that concern a woman’s body.”
There was still a small core of uneasiness in Carys, but most of it had dissipated when Telor had returned. It had not been easy to read his expression in the crazy light of the one torch the cook had left burning in the yard, but it seemed to her that the glare of insane joy was gone from his eyes. And when she saw his face in the candlelight and he spoke of her fear, she suddenly began to wonder whether it was not she who was a little mad. Could that eager glow she had read as madness have been no more than passion? And surely there was a light in Telor’s eyes again as he drew her against him and kissed her. So deep a passion for her? Carys found it hard to believe, but she closed her eyes. If she was wrong now, she did not wish to know it.
Telor did not linger long over the kiss. He lifted his head and grinned at her, and Carys coul
d not help but laugh because there was more mischief than lust in his face.
“So, quickly,” he said, “before you change your mind, help me off with these clothes.” And cloak and sword belt were off and tossed aside before he finished the sentence.
That made Carys laugh harder. “I am not sure whether to blame you for believing me the most fickle woman in the world or for being the vainest man. Do you think I will be so enraptured by your nakedness that I will be unable to deny you?” However, even while laughing she tugged at the stiff armor and at last was able to pull it over his head and drop it on the floor.
“Not at all!” he exclaimed, assuming a spurious look of deep hurt when his head was free. “I only want to get on with my task, and I told you before that my clothes get in the way.”
“Task! Is that what I am to you? A task?”
Carys knelt to undo Telor’s cross garters as she spoke, and despite her words, she was not offended. Telor’s arming tunic and shirt had swiftly followed the armor, and it was plain enough from Carys’s position as he added his shoes to the pile and worked at the tie of the braies that his task was also his pleasure and his desire. As the braies fell, Carys reached up and flicked the standing shaft that was filling her vision with a playful finger. Telor gasped, then, teasing, groaned and rolled his eyes—and Carys jumped to her feet, eyes wide with renewed fear.
“I beg your pardon,” she whispered, tensing to retreat as he quickly freed one foot and then the other from the braies. “I have never done such a thing in my life!”
Telor caught her chin in his hand, but his grip was light enough that she could have pulled free if she wished. “Never laughed and loved together? Poor little vixen. It was not a mortal hurt. You need only stroke him gently to make amends.”
He drew her still closer and kissed her, lingeringly this time, holding her with one arm while the other undid her belt. When that had joined his garments on the floor, he released her lips and ran both hands down her body. As his hands came up, her tunic came with them and was gone.
“Mortal hurt,” she repeated, almost laughing again. “I did not hurt you at all. I am not so ignorant as not to know that.” Her light words were belied by her shaking voice, but the tension that was making Carys shiver now owed nothing to fear.
“You are ignorant enough to be afraid,” Telor murmured, nibbling at her neck and jawbone between words, opening her shift and kissing downward between her breasts. “Why?”
“No…no, not afraid. I…I did not wish…you…to take that…for a signal…to hurry.” Carys’s voice was blurred and she was having trouble finding words.
The sensations Telor was arousing in her body were not new. She had experienced them before in the clearing by the river, but this time they were stronger and she was better able to give herself to them. Her trust in Telor was greater, and despite her jest, Telor was beautiful naked, unlike Ulric and Morgan; undressed, Morgan was stringy and Ulric bulged, while Telor’s clear, pale skin was tight over smooth, rolling muscles.
Carys had never seen a man naked when aroused. Neither Morgan nor Ulric nor the other men she had coupled with in the past had bothered to remove their clothes. Telor’s naked body did make a difference. Even his engorged shaft was not ugly; it seemed natural, almost amusing, rising out of the brown bushy curls between his thighs. There had been something leering and nasty in seeing the pulsing head protruding from the dirty clothes of the other men. Everything about Telor was beautiful, inviting. Carys’s hands slid around his body, running up to his shoulders and down over his small, hard buttocks.
“You need not worry that I will hurry you.”
Telor’s voice, soft and soothing, drifted up from between her breasts. It did not break her mood, and she let herself relax completely when he lifted her as her hands rose from buttocks to shoulders a second time. He carried her to where two pallets had been pushed together, a blanket tucked down the outer sides of each to hold them firmly in place. As Telor put Carys down, a vague wonder about the arrangement slid through his mind, but it was not important enough to divert him from what he was doing. Her shift came off as he eased her from sitting to lying.
“Why should I hurry my pleasure?” he asked, kissing her shoulder while his left hand cupped her breast and his right felt for the tie of her braies. “We have all night. Come, now, will you not make your amends to poor Jehan de la Tête Rouge? A kind pat to show you do not scorn him?”
A small, lazy chuckle shook Carys. “Jehan de la Tête Rouge, indeed! A grand name for a vulgar little sneak, always nosing about for holes to stick his head in.”
But her hand moved over Telor’s shoulder to trace a slow course through the curling hair on his chest, over a smooth hip, inward to his hard, flat belly where hair grew again, thinly at first and then thicker and coarser. She flattened her hand to pass under the upward straining shaft, then curled her fingers around the base. Telor’s breathing deepened and became a little uneven, with short checks, but the hand that was easing her braies over her hips continued its slow work, fingers caressing her skin with each move, and his lips traveled no faster down her body. They paused for each nipple, first a light kiss and then a curling caress with a warm tongue, and finally a gentle, insistent sucking.
Memories of things Ermina had told her that Carys did not even know she retained rose up. Her hand slid upward along Telor’s shaft, which moved under her fingers with a pulsing life of its own, and she ran her thumb lightly around the moist head, spreading over and around the drops of liquid that oozed from the tiny mouth. Telor groaned softly. She could feel tiny tremors in his body, and the hand that was working at her braies shook as the garment slipped down over her thighs, baring her body.
Telor moved sideways, bringing his mouth down from her breasts, kissing and licking along her lower chest and down her belly, but Carys had no complaint, for his free hand took up his lips’ work on her nipples. And when he put his head between her thighs and kissed her nether mouth, sliding his tongue over the little bud between the lips, Carys cried out, lifting her hips upward. Telor hesitated, but her hand slid down his shaft, up and down, urgently, until he plunged his tongue deeper, pushing strongly on the braies so that they slipped off over her feet. She cried out softly again, and her legs opened.
“I have changed my mind,” she gasped. “Now you must hurry.”
But Telor did not hurry, being older and wiser in experience than in years, even though his own body was screaming agreement with Carys’s words. Hurry was for those women who knew what would bring them the ultimate pleasure and could show a man what they needed and wanted. Carys, like a virgin—worse than a virgin, Telor reminded himself, for she had been abused—still needed to learn.
Nonetheless, he could not refuse her invitation, so while continuing his caresses, he slid his body atop hers and placed the tip of the sword in the sheath. Telor was prepared to tease and titillate, to enter with infinite slowness, but Carys’s strong legs locked over his hips and drove the sword home. All he could do was allow her to set the rhythm of their heaving until, her eyes suddenly opening wide, her voice rose in ascending trills of astonished joy while her body convulsed in climax. Telor found his own release in seconds, thinking that Carys seemed to have learned her lesson very quickly. Telor was delighted, but he did not want her to think her pleasure a one-time thing and began to caress her again only minutes after she had sighed, “Oh, my! Oh, my goodness! You have worked a miracle.” Having succeeded a second time, he could still tell himself he was taking no chances she would forget and distribute several more lessons throughout the night.
Between whiles, Carys slept almost without moving, only the faint lift and fall of her chest as she breathed and the warm color of her skin showing her to be alive. Telor had felt a flicker of guilt about waking her each time he had himself roused, desiring her again, but the excuse was there and need to love her was stronger than guilt. So, despite the fact that it took some urgent caresses to stir her, the cheerful enthusia
sm with which she cooperated once awake proved she was not angry about being disturbed.
The result of this lively activity was that Telor slept later than he had intended, sitting up with a start only after a beam of sunlight, creeping across the floor from a crack in the ill-fitting shutter, finally fell on his eyes. His first startled look around showed him Deri, scraping the mess from the candle holders where the candles had guttered out. Deri’s back was turned, and Telor did not know whether the dwarf had not noticed him sit up or whether he was being offered a few more moments of privacy.
But Telor did not dare accept Deri’s offer. He was afraid that if he looked at Carys even once, he would never find the courage to face losing her. It was said that no love but that of God existed in heaven, that all human craving was sloughed off. At this moment, Telor could not believe it; he was certain that the craving he felt for Carys would torture him throughout eternity if he died—and if he looked down from heaven and saw her with another man…A bolt of rage flared in Telor that was like physical pain. He bent his head over his raised knees, fighting the impulse to turn and kill his innocent lover—until his sense of humor came to save him. It was far more likely, he told himself, sliding carefully off the pallet and standing up, that a man with thoughts like his would be going to the other place. The wry smile that had curved his lips grew wryer; in hell you were assured of keeping every hurt and longing that could add to your torment, so perhaps his fears were not far wrong.
“Your clothes are there,” Deri said softly, pointing to a neat pile on a stool. “Do you want to wake Carys?”
“God, no!” Telor shook his head at Deri’s startled face and started to dress as he explained. “I would not have the strength to leave if I must say farewell to her. Will you wait and break your fast with her and—and try to tell her that it was no lack of love that drove me away from her? I am dreadfully late. I should have been at Lord William’s lodging at dawn to crave an audience with him.”
The Rope Dancer Page 30