by Nathalie Dae
Emmett grimaced and stepped outside. Amelia followed, closing the door behind her, and in silence the trio traipsed across the grass beside the track, trudging along the cliff edge for maybe two miles. Every so often Emmett grunted under the weight of the body. Amelia’s legs ached but she plodded on, her gaze going from the starlit sky to the ocean then back again. After some time, Madam veered to their left and approached the cliff edge at its highest point. She stopped and faced them, the moonlight behind her giving her a ghostly appearance.
“The ocean is deep along here,” she said. “No risk of his body being dragged up onto the rocks. There aren’t any. Toss him over.”
Though she knew why they had walked so far, knew what they would do, Amelia still gasped. Emmett dumped Crowe on the ground and kneeled, unrolling the corpse. He dragged him to the edge and positioned him parallel, then pushed his midsection with his booted foot. The body vanished over the edge and all three of them stood in silence, waiting. Several seconds passed, then a faint splash sounded. Amelia bit her bottom lip.
Dear God, please forgive us!
Without a word, Emmett rolled up the rug and slung it over his shoulder. “I’m sorry to have brought this upon you both.” He turned away from them, heading back the way they had come.
A strangled cry left Amelia and she glanced at Madam, who came toward her, arms outstretched.
“The guilt will pass,” she whispered, embracing Amelia. “Trust me.”
“How can you be so sure?” Amelia stepped back and held Madam’s hands, squeezing them. “How can we move on from something like this?”
Madam inhaled a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “Because I’ve done this before.” She crooked her arm through Amelia’s and tugged. “Come. We must get back. We have a rug and an attic floor to clean.”
Chapter Four
Madam kept Amelia’s arm tucked around hers on their journey back to the cottage. They walked in silence for a while and Amelia thought about the time she’d met Madam two years past. After her parents had died, Amelia was evicted from her childhood home. With no money and nowhere to go, she had packed a small bag and headed into town. She’d wandered the high street, tears streaming down her face, and bumped into the redheaded woman. Full of apologies, Amelia had gabbled her recent woes before she could stop herself. Madam had led her to the saloon and ordered a large brandy, steering Amelia to a table in the far corner.
The alcohol had burned on its way to Amelia’s gut but also loosened her tongue further. She told of her upbringing, how she’d been cosseted and protected by her parents and didn’t know how to do anything by way of work. When the news had come that her parents had been killed in a horse and cart accident, her world had collapsed.
Madam had sighed and offered her a job at her cottage, but despite her plight, Amelia had refused. She couldn’t give herself to just anyone.
“But would you mind working here?” Madam asked, her hand encompassing the room. “Would you be comfortable with that?”
Amelia had looked around at the men, at the serving wenches, and resigned herself to the fact that she may not have any other choice. She needed a job and a place to stay immediately. People would think of her as one step lower than a whore, she knew that, but… “Does it come with lodgings?”
Madam shook her head. “No, but you may rent my attic. That is if you don’t mind what goes on below it.”
Amelia had agreed and Madam left the table. She approached a kindly looking man with a large belly and gray hair who was standing behind the bar, his extravagant mustache hiding his top lip. The man listened to Madam, nodded and briefly covered her hand with his. He stared at her for several seconds, eyes moist, then turned away and pushed through a door behind him. Madam’s shoulders rose and fell as though she’d sighed and she spun around and rejoined Amelia at the table.
Though her job as a serving wench had been difficult at first, Amelia had grown used to handling the men. The owner, Harry, had treated her with respect and kindness, but he sold the saloon to a bully of a man who left the running of it mainly to Sara. Amelia remained, and when Emmett had walked in a few months after she’d started, she had been more than grateful that she worked in the saloon. After all, if she didn’t, she may never have met him.
Amelia smiled now. How generous Madam was, how caring to risk helping Amelia and Emmett. She could have ordered them to leave, told the authorities of the shooting.
“Why did you help us tonight, Madam?”
Madam patted Amelia’s hand. “Because I’ve grown to love you. Because I know how frightening it is to have a dead body to deal with.” She swallowed. “Several years ago, I married a man who ruled me. He was generous with his fists, more so after he caught me in the forest with another man. A man I loved—one who treated me like a princess. If my husband hadn’t been so bullish I would never have taken a lover.” She smiled wistfully. “When my husband found us, he dragged me back home by my hair, and my God, it hurt. Not as much as him striking me though.” She sighed and hooked a lock of hair behind her ear. “It was like something inside me snapped that night.”
“What did you do?” Amelia dreaded the answer, yet at the same time was curious.
“I stabbed him.” Madam sniffed. “Stabbed him so many times in my fury and desperation that my arm ached.”
“And then?”
“I put him in our cart, hitched up the horses and took him where we took Crowe.”
Amelia thought of the cart and horses, wondering why Madam had told Emmett to carry the corpse all that way. “Why—”
“Why didn’t I offer the use of the cart tonight?” Madam finished, a small smile on her lips. “Selfish reasons. It would have opened up old wounds.” She sighed again. “It did anyway, but somehow this was different. If Emmett carried Crowe, it wouldn’t mirror my own crime. Wouldn’t remind me of what I had done. What I have so far got away with. What I have lost—my innocence, my lover… Of course,” she laughed quietly, “my idea didn’t work, because now I’ve told you all about it and now it’s swirling in my head as though it just happened all over again. I’m so foolish at times.”
A moment’s sorrow touched Amelia and she rested her free hand on Madam’s wrist. “If he wasn’t so cruel… If he hadn’t hit you, treated you badly…”
“I know. I would never have killed him. But he did treat me badly and I did kill him, but as I told you back there,” Madam jerked her head in the direction they had come from, “the guilt fades. Life must go on, and it will for you too. I would suggest you discuss it with Emmett one time only then forget it ever happened. It’s the only way to cope. I hope that your relationship can stand the secret. Mine did not.”
Amelia stared ahead at Emmett and wondered what he was thinking. She respected his need to be alone, understood it. He’ll be blaming himself for putting me through this. I must tell him it doesn’t matter. His pain is my pain. She switched off her thoughts and asked, “Did you discuss it with your lover?”
Madam nodded. “I did, and we saw one another for a while in secret. We had to meet in the forest, away from prying eyes. As far as the townsfolk knew, my husband had walked out on me. His body never surfaced. But sadly, we need money in order to survive and, like you, I had no skills so I…I set up my business, although I have never participated, you understand. I told my lover we must stop meeting. At the time I didn’t want what I had done tainting him, and with my cottage turned into a whorehouse… He deserved better than me.”
“Does he still live in town?”
“No. He left not long after you started working for him.”
Amelia gasped. “Harry?”
Madam’s smile widened and tears spilled down her face. “Yes, my darling Harry.”
Trying to imagine how Madam felt, how painful it must have been to set her lover free, Amelia asked, “Where did he go?”
“I don’t know. And I don’t want to know. It’s better that way.” She pointed ahead then dropped her arm by her side.
“Look at your man there, lost in a world of his own. I understand what he’s feeling. And he’ll curse himself later for thinking only of himself instead of holding your arm in his as we walk back. But don’t blame him for his selfishness, will you? Try to understand.”
Amelia nodded. “I do. I will. I have to—I can’t live without him.”
They finished their journey in silence and entered the kitchen. Emmett sat at the table, his head in his bloodied hands, shirtsleeves stiff and dark red. Amelia went to him and pulled him against her stomach, caressing his hair.
“I shouldn’t have left you back there. I should have—”
“Shh, it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except us.” Amelia glanced at Madam, who nodded her approval and clapped her hands.
“Now then,” she said, her eyes overly bright, streaks of red hair sticking to her cheeks. “Our job isn’t done yet.” She placed large pans of water atop the stove.
Once the water had boiled, Emmett took a bucketful and went to scrub the attic floor. Madam helped Amelia clean the rug. Lighting several lanterns so as not to miss any blood, they laid the rug out on the patio and washed it. They worked without speaking, and when the rug was as clean as they could get it they each took two corners and hung it over the washing line.
Back in the kitchen, Madam locked the door and turned to Amelia.
“Go to him. Bring him down here and bathe him. Cleanse him of that blood.” She cupped Amelia’s cheek. “That’s the worst part you know, having blood on your hands. Good night, dear Amelia, and thank you.”
“For what?”
“For listening. Not judging me.”
Amelia quickly left the room, dashing up the two sets of stairs, the need to be with Emmett so fierce it brought a lump to her throat. At the top of the attic steps, she looked down at him sitting next to a wet patch of floor, the bucket and a scrubbing brush before him. He stared ahead, seeing things she could only imagine, and her heart wrenched. She rushed to him, kneeled beside him and held his face in her hands.
“Emmett, please… Stop tormenting yourself. What’s done is done.”
“I…I have killed two men today. I know I had no alternative, but it still doesn’t make it right. When I… When I pushed Crowe off that cliff… I thought about what could have happened. What if he had killed you?” His eyes filled with tears. “I couldn’t live without you, wench.”
“Nor I you. Come.” She rose and took his hands in hers, ignoring the dried blood. “Let me bathe you downstairs.”
She picked up the bucket and brush then led him to the kitchen and urged him to sit at the table. He appeared lost, bewildered, and her love for him bloomed further. Yes, he had killed two men, but it didn’t make her feel any differently toward him.
Should it? Should I fear him now I know what he’s capable of? She tousled his hair and leaned down to kiss him tenderly. No, I don’t fear him.
Amelia turned to prepare his bath and smiled. Madam had gone to bed and left the stove burning so the water in the pans remained hot. She had also placed the tin tub in front, a quarter filled with cold water. Emmett rose to help her and together they added the hot water. A large, folded linen cloth sat on the chair nearest the stove, along with a bar of soap. Amelia tested the water then stood before Emmett. He was like a broken man, his shoulders drooped, his head bent and she yearned to take all the hurt away. If she could transfer his guilt to herself she would gladly bear it for him.
“Emmett?” She cocked her head and lifted his chin with her finger. “You’ll feel better after a bath. It’s the blood. It’s…”
He looked up into her eyes then down at his hands. As though seeing them for the first time, he jolted, eyes wide. “Oh God. I…” He took an empty pan and scooped bath water into it, placing it on the table. Grabbing the soap, he dipped it in the pan and immersed his hands, scrubbing at the blood.
Amelia wrung her hands, unsure whether to comfort him or let him deal with his burden by himself. She settled for resting her hand on his shoulder, remaining silent until he had cleaned the blood away. He took his hands from the water and held them up, examining them.
“It feels like it’s still there,” he said.
“It won’t always be that way, my love.”
“Won’t it?”
She turned him to face her and undid his shirt, taking it off and pushing it into the soapy water he’d just used. He stared down at his chest. Dried blood flecked the skin and he dove forward, wrung out the shirt and rubbed it over himself until the proof of his crime had disappeared. He toed off his boots and pulled down his breeches, loosing a wobbly sigh as he stepped out of them. Amelia took his hand and kissed it, wanting him to know the blood had gone, really gone, then helped him into the large tub. With his knees bent, he was able to lean back a little and submerge his chest. Eyes closed, he faced the ceiling.
I feel so helpless…
Amelia took the soap out of the pan and kneeled beside the tub. She lathered it, inhaling the sweet lavender scent, and dropped it into the water. With tender strokes, she cleaned him, wishing her hands had the ability to heal, to take the past away. As she washed his belly, he opened his eyes, smiling sheepishly as his cock hardened. She soaped it to full erection, her hands gliding up and down easily with the lather. He felt good in her hands, solid and reassuring, more like the man she knew rather than the sad person he had been this night. Brushing her thumb over his tip, she drew circles then dragged her hand down his shaft. She watched his reaction. He stared down, his eyes half-lidded, a soft smile curving his mouth. She slid her other hand between his legs and he raised his hips a little. Amelia found his ass pucker and pushed past the tight barrier, burying her finger inside. The sheath gripped her finger and she slowly rubbed the raised protuberance there.
His eyes widened and a quiet gasp left him. “If you continue with that…”
She smiled, knowing he knew she would. With light strokes, she circled the nodule inside him and with stronger, faster strokes she worked his cock. His pelvis jerked out of the water, sending a spray of it slapping onto the floor beside her. While his cock throbbed against her palm, Amelia squeezed him inside her fist, pumping him with increased speed. The water washed away the lather and his tip darkened, a thick pearl of creamy pre-cum dribbling. She leaned over and licked it off, taking her hand from around him and plunging his cock into her mouth. His hand settled on the top of her head and she allowed him to direct how fast she bobbed. He wanted it slow, so she took him inside deeply, laving his length with a flat tongue every time she drew up.
“Just suck the tip,” he said.
She obeyed, pulling her mouth up and curling her lips around his corona. Holding his cock upright, she massaged him with her mouth, loving the way her lips and tongue glided over the ridge. Increasing suction, she teased him, dipping her head faster.
“Stop!” he said, voice strained, hands gripping the side of the tub.
Amelia pulled her finger from him and stilled her mouth. She looked up at him, saw the flush of his cheeks and the way his chest rose and fell. With one last lick up his shaft, she shuffled along the tub and kissed his lips then licked them with a pointed tongue. He groaned, lifting his hands to bury them in her hair. Cupping her cheeks, he eased her face away and looked into her eyes.
“I love you,” he said, brushing her nose with his.
She smiled, trailing the backs of her fingers down his cheek. “And I love you.” Standing, she opened the linen square and held it up. Emmett took a moment to even out his breathing and she gazed down at him. His cock jutted from the water, bobbing as he closed his legs a little. He rose, water sluicing off him, then stepped out of the tub. She wrapped the fabric around him, drying his chest and stomach with two corners, taking her time so his anticipation of what was to come grew stronger. His cock bumped her hand and she looked into his eyes, taking the cloth from around him and bringing it to his chest.
“Kneel?” he asked, head tilted. “Please?”
&n
bsp; She smiled and nodded, dropping the cloth and kneeling again to take the still-damp rigidity between her lips. The tip grazed the roof of her mouth as she pulled up, the skin silky smooth. His groan prompted her to plunge down again, setting a slow rhythm. Hands in her hair, Emmett raised his hips.
Needing to take his mind from recent events, Amelia sucked harder, his cock gliding over her tongue. His vein pulsed and with one hand she fondled his sac, swirling his inner thigh with the fingertips of the other. The grip on her hair tightened and she worked faster, readying herself for his semen. It shot into her mouth in three rapid bursts and she swallowed as he murmured indecipherably. Slowing her pace, she sucked long and deep, finishing with a kiss to his tip. She took her mouth from him and she looked up. He gazed down at her, eyes half-lidded, hands massaging her scalp.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you.”
Amelia scooped up the linen and stood, holding it out so he could wrap his lower half. She touched his face, their gazes meeting, pressed her lips to his, then said, “Do you need to talk?”
He nodded.
“Sit down then. You can talk while I make some tea.” She stared at the tub. “That can wait until morning. I’ll get up early and empty it, save Madam the job.”
Emmet didn’t sit. He slipped on his breeches, unlocked the back door and filled a bucket with bath water, then hauled it outside, repeating the task with an unreadable expression. Amelia set the filled teapot on the work surface to steep and, as Emmett didn’t offer conversation, she washed his shirt. The water turned pink, but the blood came out. Satisfied, she wrung the shirt and stepped outside to hang it on the line beside the rug. Emmett pulled the tub toward the back door and she waited while he tipped it over to empty it. Water pooled around her shoes and she stared at it for a moment, watching the liquid seep between the stone cracks. Thoughts of their journey to the cliff edge threatened to intrude and she glanced at Emmett while he hung the tub on the inside wall hook beside the back door. He avoided her gaze and a kernel of worry expanded inside her. Would what he had done ruin their relationship? Oh God, she hoped not. She couldn’t bear to let him go as Madam had done with Harry.