Eliza's Awakening

by Zaide Bishop

  “But you don’t want her distracting anyone else?”

  “Those lords have their own women. They’re all pretty and dressed in fancy clothes. What do they want mine for?” Kell cast a glare at his friend.

  Emerlin laughed. “She ain’t yours. She can’t even talk to you.”

  He sighed a little. Emerlin was right. Eliza wasn’t his. He hadn’t even asked for her father’s permission to court her and they’d certainly never been alone before. Emerlin didn’t understand, though. He was fond of girls. Fond of Eliza’s dearest friend, Ylinda, who was pretty enough and nice enough, if you liked flirty girls like that. But Emerlin had never looked at a girl and seen what Kell saw in Eliza.

  She was like the warmth of summer sun, even on the chilliest of winter mornings. During the day her hair was spun from gold and rubies, and in the candlelight it was as soft as pink silk. Freckles dusted her shoulders and her nose and the flawless smooth skin from her collarbone from the curve of her breasts. In the summer, when the fat horseflies hummed in the muggy air, she would tuck her skirts into her waistband and wade out into the stream with the other girls to laugh and catch tadpoles and tiny silver fish.

  That was the Eliza he liked best: laughing tadpole Eliza, and sometimes, almost invisible shy Eliza, when it snowed and she was so rugged up he could only see her nose and cheeks, pink with cold.

  Where he was dark and dedicated and sombre, she was light and laughter and big green eyes. He wished he knew better how to make her smile, but it was Emerlin and the boys who were the clever jesters. Kell had sisters and they all laughed too much in his opinion. He hadn’t cared about making girls laugh at all until Eliza. She would be his, if she wanted to be. Lord Kempsly always gave the staff bonuses after the Longest Night, to spare them any hardship in the winter. He planned to save his, and come spring, his uncle had promised him the wedge of land between the glade and the pond, all the way up to the crest of the hill.

  He was going to build a house there, on the rise. With savings and a home, he’d be worthy. But only—only if his little sister Nana got better. She had been sick for weeks now and the doctor had been called twice. If she did not get better, there would be no savings in spring—he would spend all he had on medicine and doctor’s visits. His mother worked washing clothes in the stream, but it would be frozen over soon and most weeks his pay was the only money coming in.

  “You’re thinking too hard again.” Emerlin rolled his eyes.

  “Sorry. You don’t think, if something really bad happened tonight, that we would lose our bonuses, do you?”

  “Perhaps if we set the table on fire, but I wasn’t planning to play with any candles. Are you thinking about what the girls said? About dressing up and joining the party?” Emerlin grinned. “Because that probably would cost us our bonuses. And then some.”

  “No,” Kell paused. “I was thinking about Nana.”

  Emerlin frowned. “Is she any better?”

  “Still coughing. And so weak.”

  “If word comes from town and you have to go tonight, I’ll cover for you,” Emerlin promised. Kell smiled a little. Emerlin was a ratbag, but he was a good friend when it mattered.

  “Hopefully not. I just want everything to go well, so Lord Kempsly gives us a big bonus.”

  “It will.” Emerlin grinned again. “How could any lord be unhappy with the show they have planned for tonight?”

  * * *

  The party was in full swing. Those who had arrived in regular attire had transformed themselves into myth and beast between the foyer and the banquet, and now Cyndirmere, the Saint of Shadows, danced gaily with Ulbouroth, the Demon of Winter. Delicate masks of feathers and silk, molten silver, carved wood or even fashioned bone, hid recognisable features and made familiar acquaintances mysterious and dangerous.

  The heat of so many bodies had taken the chill from the room and they had stripped off their thick coats and furs, allowing for costumes both erotic and outrageous. Men danced, animal tails swaying between their legs, and women with horns and goat ears laughed prettily in dresses that plunged to the curve of their buttocks.

  Eliza had never seen so much skin and glamour. The lights made jewels gleam and the tables seemed to groan under the weight of the food. Everything was perfume, roasting meat, sugar and glittering gems.

  It was all so beautiful, so overwhelming, that she half-feared to be among it—but no sooner had Ylinda and she delivered the wine then Amberlyn ordered them to take up trays and mingle in the crowd, offering crystal goblets of blood-red wine to the guests.

  Even in her fresh-pressed uniform, even with the sweet smelling lily in her hair, she felt underdressed in the crowd. These elegant, high-bred women made her feel ugly and awkward.

  She saw Kell, standing at attention—playing the honour guard, even though there was really no need for one. The guests were all friends of Lord Kempsly and there would be few hostilities beyond the odd catty word. Somehow he looked regal, with his dark hair and darker eyes. He didn’t stare, but she could see how his eyes lingered on the full, exposed cleavage of the young ladies. Normally she would have gone to him, at least to offer him a drink or some food. She didn’t want him to look at her right now—all he would see was how she paled in comparison to their beauty and sexual charms. It made a hard lump form in the back of her throat.

  “Aren’t you a precious little thing?” a smooth voice purred.

  She blinked, turning to find Lord Rakin looking down on her. She knew him by his long red hair and the green eyes that peered at her from the wolf’s mask he wore. The mask fit snugly to his face and his eyes were lined with kohl, so it looked as if his eyes truly were those of the mask, cunning and cruel.

  “My lord, would you like some wine?” She bowed her head slightly.

  “I have some, as you can see.” He held up a crystal goblet that had been hidden by the tray she carried.

  “Is it to your taste, my lord?”

  “Very much so.” She couldn’t see his lips, but she could hear his amusement. “Your hair is such a pretty colour. Blonde, just blushing red. And those freckles. That porcelain skin. Such beauty is wasted on a serving girl.”

  She bit her cheeks to stop herself from glaring at him—the double-edged nature of the compliment had not gone over her head. “I shall wish upon the eve that my beauty be stripped and given to someone more deserving,” she said flatly. The young lord laughed.

  “I’ve insulted you.”

  “It’s your birthright. That’s why they call you lord.”

  “Accept my apology anyway. What do they call you?”

  “Eliza,” she confessed. “Eliza Baker.”

  “And how old are you?”

  “Twenty.” She paused. “Come spring.”

  “Spring is only half a season away,” he said, sounding obnoxiously smug.

  She could smell him, standing so close. He smelt like leather and cloves, male musk and some sweet exotic perfume. Despite his insult, he was making her blush and she wondered if he really did think she was pretty. Not that she was changing her mind about him. Kell was more desirable, and Lord Rakin seemed to take his pleasure in making others uncomfortable.

  “I should—” Eliza intended to make her excuses and continue to serve the drinks, but he touched her arm.

  “No, stay. You’re the only maiden here not trying to marry me. I would like more of your company.”

  She felt exasperated, but tried not to show it. “How do you know I don’t want to marry you? If everyone is so keen, why not me?”

  “I’ve seen you looking at that young man,” Lord Rakin indicated Kell with a jerk of his chin. She wanted to curse, wondering how long the lord had been stalking her before he made his approach. She knew he was making her a plaything, but there wasn’t much she could do about it unless Lord Kempsly, Lady Kempsly o
r even Amberlyn ordered her away.

  “Are you sure?” She feigned innocence.

  “Quite sure. And he is a handsome young man. Of your station, too, I think. A good match for a young maiden, perhaps. If he felt the same way.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” she said sullenly.

  “If only there was some way to find out. Perhaps a little bird might whisper all his secrets in my ear.” He changed the subject abruptly. “What do you know about the events your lord and lady have planned for this evening?”

  She shrugged. “It’s a surprise. For the staff as much as the guests. I am not privy to the secrets of the house.”

  “Indeed?”

  “I’ve heard there will be a sacrifice.”

  “Have you?” She could almost hear his grin widening under the mask. “Of what nature?”

  “In my house we always killed a dove.” She frowned. “I heard Queen Victoria has a stag killed and they all dine on venison, but we only have roasting boar. A piglet, perhaps? Bull sacrifices are for summer, so it can’t be a calf.”

  “Blood sacrifices are for traditionalists. And that would be a poor description of your Lord Kempsly. This is an event of lascivious excess, my little Eliza. Such an event calls for a more licentious sacrifice.”

  “Rakin,” Lord Kempsly appeared by her side and she breathed a quick sigh of relief. He would dismiss her and distract Lord Rakin before the young lord tried to talk her into visiting the stables to discuss the meaning of the word ‘licentious.’

  “Lord Kempsly. Quite the party. I’m glad I came here instead of Widow Riveremeade’s event. She promised gypsy dancers, but they’d probably just have given us all lice.”

  “I’m glad you are finding the evening to your liking,” Lord Kempsly said with a slight roll of his eyes.

  “Of course, we are all really here for the main event. Tell me, have you selected your sacrifice for the night?”

  Eliza tried to take her leave and slip away, but Lord Rakin deftly blocked her escape with his body.

  “I have had some thoughts on the matter,” Lord Kempsly indicated the room at large. “I have quite a full stable.”

  “So I see.”

  Stable? The idea that they might kill one of the horses horrified her.

  “My lord.” Normally she was comfortable around Lord Kempsly. He was a fair man and never unreasonable. However tonight, after watching him mount his wife like a feral dog, she could not meet his gaze. “May I?” She indicated her desire to leave.

  He waved her off. “Of course.”

  “But—” Lord Rakin instructed her from behind his snarling wolf mask, “—don’t go far.”

  Kell bristled. He could see the blunt hunger in Lord Rakin’s eyes, the way his gaze lingered on Eliza’s hips, breasts and lips. The man was rich, powerful and handsome, just the kind of man who thought he could have whatever he wanted; be it a fine mare or a fine woman, he would mount them both if they struck his fancy. He would have liked nothing more than to stalk across the room and punch the roguish lord right in the mouth.

  That was the sort of crime they would hang a man like Kell for, though.

  That alone might not be enough to stop him if Lord Rakin put his hands on Eliza. However, if something happened to him, then his whole family was at risk. His sisters and mother would have no one to care for them. He swallowed his anger and let it sit, hot and restless, in his belly.

  “You are a tall, dark and handsome stallion, aren’t you?”

  The young woman who had glided to his side wore a mask and a velvet gown in the deepest of violets with a neckline that plunged almost to her navel. The material sat snugly against the wide, womanly curve of her hips. Behind the mask her hair was a silky cascade of brown.

  He recognised her, despite her mask. She was the Countess of Hammond, married for less than a year to an earl who was going on sixty and so frail he looked like a sapling tree, plodding around in his fine red cape.

  His son and only heir had died nine years earlier and this new wife was an old man’s last attempt to secure a new heir—though rumour was the old man wasn’t quite managing to satisfy the hungers of a young woman.

  Kell inclined his head politely, not wanting to greet her by name when this was supposed to be a masquerade party. Everyone knew everyone, but they seemed to be having a lot of fun pretending they didn’t. Flirting with a keep guard like him was clearly part of the game.

  “Don’t you speak?”

  “Of course, my, uh, lady.”

  “Such a deep, husky voice.” She fingered his buttons.

  “Thank you?”

  “A dark-eyed, dark-haired creature like you. You must be gypsy stock.”

  He tensed a little. There still wasn’t much love for gypsies in these parts. “My family have been settled in Eaststock for five generations. We have land here. None of my blood has been of the wandering folk for centuries.”

  She shook her head. “They say my husband had dark hair like yours in his day. Hard to imagine now, isn’t it?” Her smile was teasing and she walked her fingers up his breastbone. “Never mind. Such a glorious evening doesn’t require tales about old men. We are here to pay homage to Halen, the God of the Woods. It’s certainly not old men who keep the Demon of Winter at bay, hmm? It’s young, hot flesh.”

  His eyes were drawn to the curve of her breasts, smooth and milky. They didn’t have any freckles like Eliza’s did, and without them, the countess’s porcelain skin seemed plain. Still, a breast was a breast and as the countess shifted, the velvet fabric caressed her skin and he imagined a sudden movement might reveal a nipple.

  “As you say.” He forced himself to look away.

  “I wonder—” she slipped closer to him,”—if you might be able to help me with a somewhat personal matter.”

  He chewed his lip. “Uh, mayhap, but I am on duty. I have orders to stay right here.”

  “I know, but I can’t find the retiring room. Twice I’ve been told it’s down the hall and twice I’ve been unable to locate it. Please, won’t you show me the way?”

  He sighed inwardly. He didn’t want to risk Lord Kempsly looking over and seeing he wasn’t at his post. “Of course” He bowed his head slightly. “It’s this way.”

  He glanced at Lord Kempsly, but he seemed well distracted, so perhaps he would not notice Kell’s absence at all. He opened the door into the corridor for the countess, following her through into the much colder, much quieter corridor.

  The countess shivered, wrapping her arms around herself.

  “It’s not so warm away from the fire and the other guests,” he apologised.

  “Body heat does make all the difference,” she agreed.

  He led the way down the corridor, to the left, past a long row of windows that looked out over the moor. The clouds hid the stars and there was only darkness out there, as if there was no world at all beyond the keep.

  The toilets were down a set of stairs, on the ground floor, but the countess had no interest in them when he indicated the door. Instead, she pressed her pale, almost bare flesh against his chest and put her arms around his neck. “Do you know how lonely it is for a woman like me to be married to an old, lame man?”

  He was too shocked to pull away as she took his hand, pressing it against her breast. He could feel her nipple through the fabric, hard like a pebble. She pressed her lips to his and as her tongue slipped into his mouth, he could taste the wine she had been drinking—heady and sweet. He groaned as her tongue caressed his and he felt himself stiffen.

  Her hand found his cock through the front of his trousers and she began to rub firmly up and down, making him harder. He slipped his hand into her dress, caressing the smooth orb of her breast, catching her nipple in his fingers and rolling it. She whimpered, pressing herself against him. Her hips pushed
against his leg.

  “More,” she groaned. “Suck it, then fuck me right here in the corridor. I need it.”

  He started to kiss his way down her neck, then stopped and carefully untangled himself from her clothes, catching her wrist and holding her at arm’s length.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re incredibly beautiful, but I can’t do this.”

  She looked stunned, then hurt, then angry. Then she slapped his face, hurriedly tucking her breast back into her dress.

  “What’s wrong with me?”

  “Nothing. Nothing is wrong with you. But I’m promised to another. I mean, I will be, when I ask her father.”

  Her eyes blazed behind her mask. “You’re turning me down for some woman you might propose to?”

  She slapped him again, harder this time.

  “The retiring room is still down there. Can you find your way back to the party?”

  She cursed him and said some words a proper lady shouldn’t know before stalking back up to the corridor. He waited a moment, willing his cock to soften again before he followed her. He could still taste her in his mouth and the memory of her breast in his hand would be enough to get him hard again for years to come, but there was what a man wanted and what was right.

  Besides, she wasn’t as beautiful as Eliza.

  He padded back down the corridor, hoping the rest of the evening would be completely uneventful.

  He almost didn’t see the other man lurking in the shadows of the corridor, just outside the grand hall. It was the snarling wolf mask that emerged from the shadows first and Kell started, hand going to the sword on his hip. For one moment he thought it was a demon—a man’s body with a growling dog head—it was only when he saw the long mane of coppery hair that he realised who it truly was.

  Lord Rakin, the same man who had been talking to Eliza with such hungry eyes not so long ago. If the scare hadn’t put him on edge, that memory did, and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle with unbidden hostility.

  “Pardon me, my lord.” He tried to step neatly around the other man.