M'Lady Witch

by Christopher Stasheff

  Geoffrey looked up, startled. Certainly so flimsy a mask did not really make Alain unable to recognize Cordelia! Of course, it could—if he did not want to recognize her. Geoffrey chewed that thought over for a moment, then said, "She will come anon, I am sure. For the nonce, my friend, seek you a dance with yon lady in green and lace." Alain turned to him, staring, scandalized. "Why should I do any such thing?"

  "Why," Geoffrey said slowly, "because a dance with her would be a delight to any man—and will teach your body ways of holding a woman and moving with her that would delight Cordelia, and draw her to you."

  Alain looked suddenly very much on his guard. "Do you truly think so?"

  "Most truly, I assure you." Geoffrey plucked a goblet from a passing tray and presented it to Alain. "Here, my friend. You have not drunk wine for half an hour. Do so, I pray you—for what is gaiety and mirth if it has no spirit? Therefore, drink you spirits!"

  "I would scarcely call wine 'spirits,' " Alain said, accepting the cup.

  "Oh, but I would," Geoffrey said, his eyes on the cup as the Prince drank. "I would, most certainly."

  The dance ended, and Cordelia was immediately besieged by a dozen would-be partners.

  "I shall never come to her," Alain said, dismayed—and, perhaps, relieved.

  "But I shall," Geoffrey assured him, "and when the dance ends, we shall be nearest to you, be sure. Drink your wine, my friend—it will sweeten your breath for her." And he moved away to join the throng of Cordelia's admirers.

  Cordelia, fortunately, was taking her time about accepting a partner, laughing and parrying flirtatious sallies. Geoffrey managed to elbow his way to the front of the rank just as the musicians began to play again. "My lady," he said, with an edge to his voice, "I must have this dance."

  She looked up, startled—and before she could recover, he had taken her hand and her waist and was beginning to move into the steps of the dance. She accepted the fait accompli, but glared daggers at him—and as soon as they were away from other people, hissed, "How dare you intrude, brother!"

  "How dare I not?" Geoffrey returned. "Surely a brother must guard a sister, guard all of her—especially when she is showing more of herself than she ever has before!"

  Cordelia smiled, amused. "You, brother? Offended by decolletage? When you seem to seek out the lowest that you can find?"

  "In other women, aye," he said stiffly. "In other women, 'tis pleasant, 'tis right in its way—but not in a sister." She laughed scornfully. "For shame, Geoffrey! Do you not realize that every woman you have ever pursued may have been someone's sister?"

  "Well ... perhaps." Actually, he never had. "But they do not care for her nor cherish her as much as I!"

  "There has been scant evidence of caring or cherishing, 'til now."

  "Cordelia!" he exclaimed, wounded. "This whole quest is because I seek to protect you and gain you your heart's desire!"

  She gazed into his eyes, and saw that he meant what he said. He cared for her very deeply. "For that, I thank you, brother," she said warmly. "Yet am I, therefore, not to be allowed to enjoy the pleasures of dancing and flirtationonly because I have a brother who cares?"

  "Indeed! Leave that to them who have none that care for them—and therefore care naught for themselves!"

  "Oh, Geoffrey, you are so prudish so suddenly!" Cordelia said impatiently. "Do not tell me you disapprove of such behavior—for surely you enjoy it well enough in the women you pursue!"

  "Well ... aye ... but they are not my sisters!"

  "Pooh, brother! If you will not be a model of virtue, wherefore should I?"

  Geoffrey bit back the retort, and Cordelia enjoyed watching the flush of anger rise to his face. She laughed, with a light, ringing quality, as silver as Delilah's, and said, "Still, brother, I shall have mercy. For this dance, at least, I shall be all propriety."

  And she was.

  When the dance ended, Geoffrey dropped her hand, stepping back with a slight bow. Cordelia curtsied, inclining her head—and looked up to find herself facing a cavalier in gold and scarlet, with a long, flowing scarlet cloak and golden hair above the dark severity of a domino mask. Her heart stopped for a moment, at his handsomeness.

  "May I have this dance, my lady?" His voice was low and sensuous.

  "Surely, my lord," Cordelia murmured—and he stepped up, arm in arm, before the music had even started, leaving a dozen disappointed would-be partners behind.

  Then, as the music started, he slipped his hand about her waist, taking her right hand in his, holding it high. He did not touch her body with his, did everything that was decorous—but the reckless look in his eye, the gaze he gave her, the flashing whiteness of his teeth as he grinned, the paces of the dance, she found dizzying, giddy. All decorum, mind you—but there was a sensuality to his movements, a beckoning, a yearning for closeness, that she would never have suspected in a man. A tingling began, deep within her, spreading through her; she began to feel warm—and was shocked to realize she was responding to this stranger even as she had responded to Forrest.

  That scared her.

  He swept her away, and finally their bodies met, hips pressing against one another. Cordelia felt a shiver that ran through her from head to toe. The golden stranger seemed to sense it, too. He grinned, and his eyes grew hot, then almost worshipful, burning into hers. She stared, transfixed.

  Then, thank heavens, the moves of the dance called for them to break apart and stroll sedately side by side—but she felt her hips churning as she went, and knew she was not being as sedate as she might. She looked up at the tall, handsome stranger, wondering who he was, immensely tempted to peek into his mind and discover ...

  But, no. Let us enjoy the moment for what it is, she thought. Seize the day.

  Then they came together again, and he was murmuring, in a voice low and husky, certainly one that she could not recognize: "My lady, you are the most beautiful, the most luscious fruit that ever has adorned the Tree of Life! Nay, if we were not so closely hemmed by other people, I could not resist seeking to nibble, and taste."

  She giggled, feeling the emotions well up within her, her joints loosening, and beamed up at him. Greatly daring, she said, "Why do you withhold, sir? Are you so ashamed of what you would do that the simple presence of other people will halt you?"

  "Nay, surely," he breathed, his face coming closer to hers, and closer ... Then his lips were on hers, light as a feather, but growing heavier. The kiss deepened; she gasped, but that drew him deeper. For a moment, the kiss was all their existence, and everything else went whirling away, and she was dizzy, very, but she could feel his' body pressing against hers.

  Then, finally, he pulled away, chest heaving, gasping for breath, and there was a wildness and an awe in his eyes; she had never seen a man look at her that way before, not even Forrest. She felt vulnerable, beset—but she also felt waves of pleasure rocking her, felt the lingering taste of his lips on hers, and knew that she wanted that sensation again, more than anything.

  Suddenly she could hear the music anew, and stepped back. "Sir! We have missed the measure!"

  "Oh, we must not do that!" he said, his voice husky, and slid his hand beneath her palm, his forearm under hers, and they moved on down between the ranks of the other dancers, who stared at them gaping. They turned and strolled back, as all the company did; then turned and were together again, whirling through a timeless moment, his eyes her universe.

  Is this love? she thought, almost frantically. Could this be love?

  Then, for some unaccountable reason, he had stopped, and she was unutterably sad that he had. "Why, sir," she began, but he stood a little farther away from her, lifting her hand to his lips.

  "The music is done, sweetest, most beautiful of dancers," he breathed, "and though I would be selfish to the utmost, holding you in my arms and dancing through the night, I would not do it without your leave."

  "Do not give him leave, my lady, I pray you!"

  "Nay, lovely damsel! You coul
d not be so cruel as to deny me yet again!"

  "Dance with me, lovely damsel, with me!"

  They whirled her away, they came between her and the scarlet-and-gold man. She chose the most handsome among them, but he seemed to pale into insignificance next to her cavalier. But she danced with him, feeling her limbs become firm again, and the residual emotion from that last dance made her laugh and flirt. The evening restored itself to normality.

  She was not sure if she regretted it or not.

  She glanced about to find the golden young man again, but could not.

  Actually, he was standing beside her brother, shielded by a curtain in a nook.

  "Well! You did seem to enjoy that dance, my friendwhile you did it," Geoffrey said, somewhat acerbically. "What a goddess!" Alain breathed. "What an angel, what a fairy! As light as thistledown, and her kiss..." He laid a hand on Geoffrey's shoulder. "Forgive me, my friend, for I have wronged your sister. I know now that my heart is elsewhere."

  "Elsewhere!" Geoffrey looked up, amused. He could tell Alain now. "Have you no sense at all, you great ninny? That is my sister!"

  "What!" Alain stared at him.

  Then he blushed furiously. "You mean I have treated the Lady Cordelia as ... as..."

  "As a woman." Geoffrey gave him a steely glare. "You have treated her as she wants to be treated—as something feminine, desirable. Oh, it is true that she wishes to be loved for her mind, my friend—but it is also true that she wishes to be loved for her body, nay, for all of herself. I assure you that evenings of scholarly discourse are only part of what she wants from a man."

  But Alain wasn't listening. He was gazing at the dancer who fluttered on the far side of the hall, and breathing, "It is Cordelia! Oh, Geoffrey, I have never truly known her before!"

  An idea sprang from the fertile soil of Geoffrey's imagination, for this was a campaign, in its way. "Then enjoy her favors while you can, my Prince—for after this night's festivities, she may choose a man other than yourself." Alain stared at him, appalled.

  "Oh, she well may, I assure you! There are few traits so well sung as the fickleness of women. Nay, enjoy the dance with her, as strongly as you can—for if anything will move her to accept your suit, it is that above all else."

  "What?!!? My enjoyment would move her? But how could that ... how could..." Alain swallowed and looked out across the floor. "That a woman might deign to marry me ... because I enjoyed her?"

  "That would be part of it, at least." Finally Geoffrey could not contain his impatience any longer. "Why, Alain—do you think she would marry you because you did not enjoy her?"

  "Oh ... her company ... yes," Alain said. "But..."

  "Company is more than sitting by the fireside in converse, friend," Geoffrey said, and gave him a little push. "Go! Dance with her again, when you may! And when you cannot, seize a chance to dance with the Lady Delilah, too."

  "But ... why should I do that?" Alain turned back, wide-eyed.

  "Trust me, friend," Geoffrey said, trying to hide his exasperation. "If you wish to win the Lady Cordelia, dance with Delilah. Then dance with Cordelia again, and if you have more questions, ask me in the morning."

  Alain shook his head, not understanding a bit of it. He turned away to do as his mentor had bidden.

  The music ended, but he was too slow. Cordelia was dancing again by the time he came near her, dancing with that tall, dark lout of a bandit, Forrest! Who else could it be, with that wealth of dark hair and beard? The mask hid him scarcely at all, although a doublet did go far to disguise him, Alain had to admit—he was so seldom decently dressed. He could not help but wonder if Cordelia would find the man attractive, now that he was properly clothed.

  An unworthy thought. He put it from him and turned to join the crowd that hovered around Delilah.

  Cordelia, as a matter of fact, had recognized Forrest, and was already deep in his embrace, feeling the world spin about her as Forrest whirled her around the floor, devouring her eyes with his own, murmuring extravagant compliments which she was sorely tempted to believe.

  "I would know you, Lady Cordelia, through and through. Surely you are the lady of my dreams, Lady Elaine of Shallot! I could never have my fill of you!"

  Even as he said it, she could feel the probe, the presence of his mind hovering about her own, seeking entry. Instantly, her own shields were up, and tight. She relaxed outwardly, though, dissembling, trying to hide the fact that she was now on her guard. She laughed. "You may only know me without, sir, for surely the exterior must be enough for two who may not become intimate."

  "May I not, then?" He stared at her, wounded. "Wherefore not?"

  "Why," she said, "because you have been a thief, and have not yet done a deed that redeems you—and because I have only known you for two days—nay, less! We must come to know one another slowly, Sir Bandit, from the outside inand you have only begun to know my exterior, as yet."

  "I wish to," he breathed, pressing close, and his body seemed to fill every hollow of her own. "I wish to know every inch of your exterior, to kiss every iota of it" His lips touched hers, his tongue tickling, probing, exploring. Dimly, she was aware that they still moved in the paces of the dance—but only dimly, for those movements were churning up the tingling, the rush of feeling within her. Her limbs had turned to water, and only his arm bore her up.

  Then the cymbals rebuked her, and she stepped away, as the dance dictated, with a surge of self-disgust. How could she be in love with two men at once, and not even know who one of them was? And what of Alain, who had pledged her his troth, however clumsily, but was devoted to her, and remained so?

  "You are troubled, sweet one." Forrest touched the little wrinkle between her eyebrows. "Let it pass. Tomorrow is time enough to think of the world again. Tonight there will be time to think of other men. For this moment, for these few, brief minutes of the dance, think only of me."

  Well, when he put it that way, what did she have to lose? Just for this one dance, she decided to do as he asked, to let herself think only of Forrest.

  And she did.

  But when the dance ended, and she found herself in the arms of a youngster whom she did not know, who prattled merrily to her, she saw the golden cavalier acrbss the room, dancing with the Lady Delilah—or Helen of Troy, as she pretended to be tonight; but her movements were anything but regal. Slowly churning as she went through the dance, every gesture an invitation, her body pliant in his arms—and certainly, from where Cordelia watched, he seemed to be paying very close attention to Delilah. Not kissing her, perhaps, not holding her as closely as she was trying to be held—but he did seem to be mesmerized. She felt a stab of jealousy, felt indignant, but quashed the feeling quickly. He was not her property, after all ...

  Unless she chose to claim him.

  Cordelia decided that she would. She had promised nothing to Forrest, after all—or at least, had promised only to think of nothing but him while they danced. She had, and it had been delicious—but there were other flavors to taste.

  At the end of the next dance, she kept her eye on her gold-and-scarlet quarry, contriving to end her steps near him as he stepped back from Delilah with a bow, and the tidal wave of young gallants surged between him and the vixen. He looked up, saw Cordelia, and was at her side instantly, claiming her. "You must dance with me, sweet one. I have waited this night in longing."

  She molded herself to his arms and began to move to the measure of the dance that had not yet begun. "You have not waited in loneliness, sir. I have seen what excellent company you have kept."

  "I will not deny having sampled other pleasures on this Tree of Life," he breathed, "but none could be half so sweet as yourself."

  "Oh! Must you compare me with others, then, to know my virtues?"

  "I must not." He moved closer, his body not quite touching hers, but she felt her flesh burning as though he had. Her body prickled in anticipation of his touch.

  "If you must leave me alone," the cavalier mourned, "I have no
choice but to make the time pass as quickly as I can speed it—but with ever a yearning to have you in my arms again."

  Almost, she might have believed him; almost, she found that she did, as the dance caught them up again, and they moved together, then apart, then together in perfect unison, closer and closer until they kissed again. This time, somehow, she found herself unable to resist, unable to break away, only meeting his lips with her own in a kiss that went deeper and deeper, caught up somehow in a timeless moment in which the world around them ceased to exist, in which there was nothing but their mouths, their bodies, their minds, touching and longing to touch more deeply.

  Then cymbals clashed, and they stepped apart. He glared up at the musicians, but she was glad of the respite, gasping, amazed how shaken she was, not only by the surge of her own desire, but by the realization that the last embrace had not been one of lips and bodies alone, but one of minds as well. Whoever this gallant young stranger was, he was a tele path of some degree, for he had reached out and enwrapped her mind with a psionic touch, enfolded her in his own churning emotions, blending them with hers, stirring hers up even higher than they had boiled by themselves. Breasts heaving, she looked up into his face. Somehow, she was sure he had not read her thoughts—but her emotions he most surely had, and had mingled his own with hers, his desire fueling her own, leading her up toward ...

  She broke off the thought, shivering. How could she ever be content with any other man again, how could any other ever bring her so close to ecstasy as he had this night?

  And she did not even know who he was!

  But the dance was done, and other young men were pressing in between them, separating them, a gulf of young bodies opening to divide them. With relief, she turned to the youngest and stepped into the measure, bodies well apart, gradually regaining her composure.

  She had recovered nearly all when the dance ended, and she found her brother slipping his arm about hers and moving away from the other young men as the music began again. "I believe you could do with a bit of rest, my sister."

  "I certainly could," she said with relief. "Thank you, brother."