All acts of pleasure argi-7

by M. R. Sellars

  In any case, it was obvious that even though we had several questions, they were just as in the dark about the situation as us. They both definitely planned to find out what they could, but for the moment the mystery behind my wife’s sudden release was going to remain just that. Besides, and perhaps even more important than solving that riddle, they also knew what Felicity and I really needed in the wake of all this was some time alone. In the end, that was a bit of wisdom with which I couldn’t disagree.

  “You’re sure you don’t want something to eat?” I asked after what seemed like several minutes of silence.

  I was sitting on the floor of the master bathroom, my back against the cool tiled wall. Felicity was in the tub, up to her neck in warm water and lavender scented bubbles. I had offered to make her something to eat earlier when we had first arrived home. Ben had even offered her the left over tacos he hadn’t gotten around to devouring, but she didn’t seem to have an appetite. All she wanted to do, she said, was soak in a hot bath. That was a desire I found easy to help her fulfill.

  “I’m sure,” she told me softly.

  “A drink? I think we still have a bottle of Bushmills in the cabinet. There might even be some Black Bush in there too.”

  “No…well, maybe…but, not just yet.”

  “Okay. Just let me know.”

  There was a quiet splash of water as she shifted then sighed with what sounded like reserved contentment. She stayed silent for a moment and then finally said, “You don’t have to wait on me hand and foot, then, Rowan.”

  “I thought you were into that sort of thing.”

  “Well…yes…I am…but, that’s…I mean…not right now…I just…”

  I replied without looking up, rescuing her from the incoherent stammer. “It’s okay. I know what you’re trying to say. And, don’t worry about it. I don’t mind.”

  “Aye, I love you, you know.”

  “Yeah. I do. Same here.”

  Another quiet interlude fell in behind our words. Eventually it was pushed aside by the sound of movement, but this time it was me who shifted, seeking a somewhat more comfortable position.

  Reaching to the side, I picked up one of the towels that had been carelessly tossed to the floor during the search. Leaning forward a bit, I shoved it behind myself then settled back with an involuntary groan.

  “You don’t have to stay in here with me,” Felicity said. “You can’t possibly be comfortable.”

  “Do you want to be alone?” I asked. “I can go do something else.”

  I was sincere in my offer to give her solitude, but inside I hoped she wouldn’t take me up on it.

  “No…not really…but…”

  “But nothing,” I cut her off gently, feeling a sense of relief. “I’m with you, which is right where I want to be.”

  She whispered, “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  In keeping with the sporadic, up and down trend of the conversation, a period of quiet settled in between us. After a few moments we heard the metallic rattle of dog tags, followed by the click of canine toenails on hardwood. The sound came closer and finally our English setter poked his head in through the doorway. He looked at us curiously and then huffed out a low “woof”. I knew from experience, he was beckoning us to come to bed. It was readily apparent that, as far as he was concerned, his routine had been upset more than enough, and it was time for things to return to his concept of normal.

  “We’ll be there soon,” I told him. “Go on back to bed.”

  He looked at me as if he understood, woofed softly once again then turned and padded away, presumably back to his overstuffed pillow.

  “Been rough on the kids,” I offered.

  “Aye, I’m sure,” my wife replied. “And, you too.”

  “Yeah, in more ways than you know. But it was a lot worse for you.”

  “I’m not so sure,” she began, seizing on the opening I’d unconsciously given her. “When are you going to tell me what happened to your lip?”

  I had all but forgotten about the wound that graced the lower half of my face courtesy of her brother. Her mention of it reminded me that it was still throbbing and soreness was setting in. Still, it was a subject I didn’t want to get into right now.

  “I cut myself shaving,” I replied.

  “Rowan…”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Don’t tell me you and Ben got into it again?”

  “No,” I answered, shaking my head out of reflex but stopping quickly when all it did was further enhance my pains. “I think I would have ended up with more than just a split lip if I had.”

  “What happened then?”

  “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

  “Row…”

  “Really, I will,” I told her, overt sincerity in my voice. “I promise…Right now, let’s just pretend for a while.”

  She paused for a long moment, and then with a thread of disquiet accenting her voice, she whispered, “Pretend what?”

  “Pretend that this is all over.”

  Another weighty interval of quiet filled the room. I closed my eyes and tried to relax but didn’t meet with much luck.

  “It really isn’t, is it?” she asked, her voice a faint whisper.

  We were going to have more than enough to deal with where Shamus was concerned, but that wasn’t what worried me right now. I reached up to rub my temple even though I knew it was a lost cause. I had hoped that Felicity’s freedom would make the agonizing throb inside my skull subside, but it hadn’t. In fact, the pounding had only grown worse since we’d arrived home, and I couldn’t keep denying what it truly meant.

  “No,” I finally said. “Not yet.”

  CHAPTER 22:

  “Well, on a positive note this gives us an opportunity to reorganize the shelves,” I said as I began sorting through the piles of books on the floor.

  We had gone to bed almost as soon as Felicity was finished with her soak in the tub even though it was still relatively early in the evening for a Saturday. Of course, we were both exhausted, physically and mentally; and, on top of that my quick nap earlier had served only to whet my appetite for more shuteye. With my wife safely home, the autonomic portion of my brain took it upon itself to have a clandestine meeting with the rest of my body. The immediate consensus was that the crisis was over for the time being, and ethereally driven headache or not, it was time for me to rest.

  And, so it was decreed. Without warning, the flow of adrenalin that had kept me going for the past two days came to an immediate halt, and I was left with no other choice than to give myself over to the dire need for sleep. Even with that, Felicity had been a half step ahead of me and was already drifting in a quiet slumber by the time I slipped beneath the blanket.

  “I suppose that’s one way to look at it,” my wife replied as she surveyed the mess. Her voice, however, was devoid of anything resembling good humor. “I mean, was all this really necessary?”

  “Depends on your point of view, I guess,” I told her. “Apparently they felt it was.”

  She let out a heavy sigh and knelt to the floor, starting in on the pile nearest her.

  While the evening had been an early one for us, so had the morning. Even with my gut feeling that more strife was barreling toward us with no intention of slowing down, I wanted to at least make an attempt at returning our lives to something near normal, so I started in on the cleanup project with minimal delay. Actually, we both did.

  I had rolled out of the bed well before the dawn, my body immediately complaining that it wasn’t quite finished with its hiatus from the land of the conscious. But, I pressed on; there was way too much work to do. I barely had the coffee started when Felicity joined me in the kitchen, wordlessly slipping her arms around me from behind and resting her cheek against my back as she squeezed for all she was worth. The carafe had been full, with the java maker sputtering its way through one last steamy gurgle before she finally let go.

  “I’m putti
ng fiction here and non-fiction over here, for the moment,” I offered, nodding toward the two separate stacks as I quickly shuffled a pair of books between them. “So…I’m almost afraid to ask, but I guess I should-how much laundry do we have to do?”

  “I’m not sure I even want to think about it,” Felicity replied then shook her head and continued anyway. “I’d say four loads at least, probably more. I think the cats made themselves a nest in there. One of my formal gowns is snagged so badly it’s completely ruined. Several of them are covered with hair, and one of your suits as well. I’ll need to run a lint brush over those then take them to the dry cleaners.”

  “Sorry about that. I guess I should have moved everything, or at least thrown something over the pile.”

  “Like you didn’t have enough to worry about?” she quipped. “I’m not upset with you. I blame them.”

  “The cats?”

  “No, the police. I should send the bastards a bill. That was a four-hundred-dollar dress.”

  “Well, at least tell me it wasn’t the shiny black one with…” I waved my hands about in a failed attempt at gesturing my way through the description.

  “Aye, if you mean the black satin off the shoulder, with the full skirt and basque waist. Yes.”

  “Yeah…okay…whatever all that means…” I replied. “But what I really want to know is if it’s the one that really shows off your back and legs and has that design on the front with all the sparkly things?”

  “Yes.”

  “Damn,” I mumbled. “You looked really hot in that one.”

  “I know,” she replied not even attempting to feign humility. “That’s exactly why I bought it. And, it’s still in style, too, dammit.”

  I chuckled lightly. Even though my head still hurt for reasons beyond the natural, there was something very restorative about this conversation. In fact, it was comforting enough to allow me to forget about the pain for a while.

  “It’s not funny, Rowan. The dress is ruined.”

  “I wasn’t laughing at that, honey. It’s just…never mind. It’s not important. I’m just happy you’re home.”

  “Me too.”

  “So, ruined, huh?”

  “Yes, ruined. Remember, they got hold of one of your suits as well. Fortunately, it just looks like it’s only covered with hair. No damage that I could see.”

  “Well, save some money on that one. You can just hit it with a lint brush and give it to charity,” I said, half-joking. “It’s not like I wear suits that often.”

  “Aye, I think not,” she replied as she looked toward me. The corners of her mouth turned up in what might have been a slight smile. “It’s the charcoal grey suit you just bought, and I think it makes you look very handsome. You’ll be keeping it.”

  “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

  “Sure I can,” she returned in a light tone that was suddenly replaced by anger as she sputtered, “Dammit! Dammit!”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Look at this!” she exclaimed, holding up a tome that bore a severely bent corner and a large rip traversing three-fourths of the cover. “This is my autographed first edition of Lucinda’s Web. Damnnu iad! Where does it end?!”

  “Calm down, honey,” I soothed. “I’ll get you another dress, and I’ll get you another book.”

  “That’s not the point,” she grumbled then hung her head, carefully caressing the damaged novel. Eventually, she sniffled and then whispered, “After everything we’ve done for them…after everything you’ve done for them, and what you’ve been through…why? Why did they do this to us, Rowan?”

  After everything…

  That preface was running through both our minds but from somewhat different points of view, as my thoughts were wallowing in the land of after everything they’ve done to us, why do I still feel compelled to help them. It was a quandary I wasn’t sure I’d ever work out.

  Still, I couldn’t blame my wife for her reaction to the situation. The damaged book was yet another act of disrespect heaped upon a towering mound of contempt, with us at the bottom. My own feelings had been a mirror image of hers just a day before. I’d just had more time to come to terms with it than her.

  I replied softly, avoiding the obvious slur against Albright that was lacerating the tip of my tongue and told her instead, “I don’t know, honey. I wish I did, but I just don’t know.”

  “Why can’t we just be normal?” she lamented.

  I took in a deep breath then sighed. “Believe me, sweetheart. That’s one I’ve been asking myself for a long time now, and I don’t have an answer for it either.”

  The ding of the doorbell joined together with the sound of shuffling footsteps on the front porch and was instantly followed by a quick round of yaps from the dogs, effectively bringing our moment to an end. I started up from the floor, but Felicity was already on her feet, quickly brushing her dampened cheeks with the back of her hand.

  “I’ll get it,” she mumbled. “I’m closer.”

  I stood up anyway and immediately began stepping around the semi-sorted piles to close the gap between us. My protective attitude regarding her was still set to high, and I wasn’t overly excited about her being the one to answer the door. At this stage of the game, it wasn’t out of the question for whoever was standing on the other side of it to be determined to snatch her away from me once again.

  Reaching the door, she stood on tiptoe and put her eye to the peephole. Almost instantly, however, she pulled back and began quickly fumbling with the lock.

  “Who is it?” I asked.

  “Austin!” she almost shrieked.

  “Felicity, no!” I yelped, but I was too late. She had already pulled the door open wide and was rushing forward into an embrace with her brother.

  “Austin!” she yelped his name again. “Gods! I thought you weren’t coming until the end of the week?”

  I covered the remaining distance in a pair of steps, coming immediately behind my wife, my face wearing what had to be a mix of anger and fear.

  “Mathair called me, so I changed my flight and got here yesterday,” he said to her as an explanation. “Are you okay, then?”

  “I’m fine,” she replied. “I’m fine. Even better now.”

  I hated to break up the reunion, but as far as I was concerned, my brother-in-law’s motives were still suspect. I started to reach for Felicity, but as I did Austin met my eyes with his own and spoke.

  “Aye, Rowan,” he said almost apologetically. “It’s all right, then. You needn’t worry, I’m sober. And, I’m only here to talk this time.”

  “What?” Felicity asked, pulling back and casting her puzzled glance back and forth between us. “What do you mean this time? What are you talking about?”

  “Austin and I visited with one another last night before you called,” I answered, my voice flat.

  She looked back at me with a puzzled frown. “What? You knew he was already here, and you didn’t tell me?”

  “Given how it went, it wasn’t exactly high on my priority list.”

  “Don’t blame him, Felicity, it’s understandable,” Austin interjected. “Like Rowan said, it wasn’t what you would call a pleasant meeting.” He gave her a meek shrug then nodded toward me. “I’m afraid I’m the one responsible for marking up his face.”

  My wife instantly turned a heated glare back at her brother and snapped, “You hit him?”

  “Aye, I hate to…”

  The rest of his sentence was cut short by the sound of Felicity’s open palm connecting firmly with his cheek.

  *****

  “I can’t believe you would let our father get to you that way, Austin,” my wife admonished her brother as she placed a cup of coffee in front of him then scooted into a seat on the opposite side of the breakfast nook.

  Between the two of us, we had given her a rough sketch of the events that had transpired the previous evening before I received her call. Austin volunteered the fact that he had spent the night only a few
miles away in a cell at the Briarwood police station. Fortunately, he didn’t seem to be holding a grudge against me in that regard. Of course, Ben may not have told him that I had sanctioned the idea, and right now wasn’t the time for me to be making confessions.

  “Well, remember, I was drinking,” he offered as an explanation.

  “Obviously,” she shot back. “But, even then you should know better.”

  “Maybe you’re right. I don’t know for sure,” he half-agreed. “I’ll be honest, I didn’t believe him, not at first. Not until he showed me the letters. Then I had to start wondering if maybe he was telling the truth.”

  “Letters?” she asked. “What letters?”

  “That’s a little detail that got left out earlier,” I offered.

  “Go on, then,” she urged. “One of you add it back in.”

  “He has letters, Felicity,” Austin began. “From you. Letters written in your own hand begging him to help you get away from Rowan and his cult.”

  “Cac capaill!” she spat, screwing up her face and shaking her head adamantly. “He does not.”

  “Aye, he does. He showed them to me.”

  “Are you sure you didn’t imagine all of this, Austin? Just how much did you drink last night?”

  “I didn’t imagine them, Felicity.”

  She shook her head again. “I know he’s got his problems with Rowan and our religious path, but that’s just insane.”

  “You’re not going to get any argument from me there,” I interjected.

  “Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. Can you explain them?” Austin asked.

  “Yes. Like I said, you were imagining things.”

  “Hand to God, dear sister, I saw them with my own eyes.”

  “And, were you already seeing double?”