Finally—and not before time in Anselm’s opinion—the landlord sent his wife to beg Fergus to play a merrier tune. She couldn’t have her poor patrons weeping into their ale, the good woman said, not in the very place where a man should be able to set his woes aside.
Much affronted by the landlady’s gently-worded admonishment, Fergus had immediately bidden them all a rather curt good night, saying he would take his miserable self off to his lonely bed so that he could think about his lovely wife undisturbed. Refusing Hugh’s offer to accompany him, he’d staggered out of the tavern into the night, his lyre under one arm, mopping his eyes on his sleeve.
Fortunately, good old Hugh wasn’t anywhere near as emotionally vulnerable as poor Fergus. He was, however, extremely devoted to the beautiful wife who awaited him back in Edgeway.
While he was more than happy to accompany Anselm and Percy to the bordello, Hugh made it clear from the start that he wasn’t in the market for any female attention. Indeed, he expressed himself with such great politeness that the madam and her girls quite spoiled him. Hugh found himself escorted to a most comfortable seat beside a good fire, with a board of cold meats, and an excellent bottle of brandy to keep him company. Other than that, he was left in peace.
As for himself…
Anselm rubbed his eyes, willing his cringing mind not to remember.
Of course, there was no surer way to recall something than wishing to forget it had ever happened.
As drunk as he’d been, his memory refused to be suppressed and returned in a fast-rising tide of fresh humiliation.
Miriam, meanwhile, continued to stare at him, naked curiosity burning in her amber eyes. Although he wasn’t hungry, Anselm busied himself by loading his platter with bread and a selection of meat so that he could avoid her gaze.
While Percy prattled away, filling the silence with his merry nonsense, Anselm was free to revisit his private shame…
Encouraged by the enthusiastic attentions of a buxom young woman by the name of Ruby, Anselm’s traitorous cock finally began to show signs of life. Much heartened by his sudden return to full masculinity, against his better judgment, he allowed Ruby to be drag him up the flight of rickety stairs to her little bedchamber.
A foolish move. The moment Ruby closed the door, sliding the bolt firmly home, Anselm immediately sobered up. If he hadn’t been so desperate to banish Miriam from his heart perhaps he might have acted more wisely.
Ruby began pushing Anselm backward toward her narrow bed, her breasts almost spilling over the top of her tight-fitting gown, . Suddenly the room seemed much too small, and the walls began closing in on him. The unpleasant reek of old sweat, sex, and cheap perfume filled the air making him gag.
“Lie ye down, master,” Ruby purred, forcibly pushing him back onto the thin mattress. “Make yourself comfortable.”
With a muffled oof, Anselm landed upon the creaking cot. He tried to sit up but Ruby was too quick. Lifting her skirts, she immediately straddled him, trapping him between her plump white thighs, and so preventing his escape.
Smiling, she ran her—rather grimy, it had to be said—fingers beneath his shirt. “Oooh. Ain’t you the ’andsome one, m’lord. Why, it makes me wet just lookin’ at you.”
“Yes, I’m sure it does,” Anselm muttered to the cracked ceiling, not entirely convinced by the woman’s breathy declaration of lust.
“Here, then. Give me yer hand and have a feel if you don’t believe me,” Ruby said making a sudden grab for Anselm’s wrist.
Oh, by the balls of the Great Spirit!
“No!” He sat up so quickly that poor Ruby almost toppled from her precarious perch. Almost but not quite. She had a good seat, he would say that much for her. “What I meant to say was… that won’t be necessary. There’s no need for anything of that nature, my dear.”
“Oh, I see how it is.” With a knowing smile, Ruby shoved him back on the bed. “My master is a shy one, is he?”
Anselm cursed beneath his breath. Of all the hapless dolts in these lands, he was by far the most dense. Coming here had been a huge mistake. Now here he was, trapped upon the bed of a well-endowed whore whose pendulous breasts dangled menacingly over his face like the swollen, spidery-veined udders of an un-milked cow. Like two plump fingers, her dusky nipples pointed downward, accusingly, branding him a fool.
Almost as soon as it had roused itself, his cock withered and died. Anselm could almost feel the traitorous thing retreating in terror, cowering beneath the protection of his ball sack.
“P-Perhaps we might t-talk for a while?” he suggested. Not that he had any idea what they might discuss. The best method of counteracting a heavy dose of cock-rot, perhaps? Not entirely helpful.
But Ruby clearly wasn’t in the mood for idle chit-chat. “I ain’t much for talking, master.” As she spoke, she kept pawing at his chest. “How about if I give ye a little kiss for starters, you know, just to warm ye up a bit?” The girl was nothing if not determined.
“A kiss?” That didn’t sound too terrible. Surely a simple kiss wasn’t beyond him? “Yes, that does sound rather goo—” Ruby made a sudden grab for the fastening of his trews. “What the devil are you doing, woman?” Anselm demanded, his hand closing firmly about the whore’s wrist, stilling her questing fingers.
“You said I might give you a kiss, m’lord,” Ruby said, pouting.
“Not down there, you insolent slattern!” he cried. Forcibly pushing Ruby off him, Anselm leaped from the bed. “I sincerely hope that’s not how you kiss your mother.”
“I don’t have any family, sir.” Ruby scrambled from the bed, huge breasts a-jiggling. “But some day I’d like a babe of my own, sired by a rich nobleman, perhaps?” She tilted her head to one side and simpered, exhibiting all the moves of a practiced coquette. “A kind, gentle sort of man who’d keep me in jewels and fine gowns whilst he was away about his business.”
“Ambition is a very fine thing to own, my dear.” Just as long as she didn’t point it in his direction. A babe indeed! The very thought made him shudder. “To my shame, I am but a penniless hearth-knight, wholly dependent upon the generosity of my betters.” There. That ought to dampen down her flames of passion a tad.
His words kindled a new colder fire within Ruby’s eyes. To Anselm’s huge relief, the whore slowly re-covered her breasts, concealing them beneath the inadequate covering of her thin shift.
“In that case, m’lord, I hope you have enough coin to compensate me for wasting so much of my time.”
At last. A way out.
“Oh, indeed I do.” Frisking himself, Anselm searched for his purse. He found it and held it aloft, giving it a little shake. The sound of jingling coins thawed a little of the frost from Ruby’s eyes. “You see?” he said. “I am not completely without funds.”
“Ooh!” Ruby released her hold on the edges of her shift and her burgeoning breasts burst forth again. “So, exactly how much do you have in there, my handsome lord?”
Anselm shrugged. He was about to lie and produce a few coins of the lowest denomination when a sudden idea struck him. “Enough.” He produced a couple of silver coins from his purse and held them out to her. “More than enough for you, my dear.” The sight of silver made the whore’s jaundiced eyes widen. She began pawing at his chest again, writhing and moaning against him like a bitch in heat. “Not so fast, m’lady,” Anselm said softly, halting her hungry hands. “If you want the contents of my purse, you will first have to earn it.”
“How?”
“By helping me with a small experiment.”
Ruby shook her head. “I ain’t no book-learned woman, m’lord.”
Anselm smiled. “I realize that.” He pressed the coins into Ruby’s eager hand and closed her fingers about them. “But the knowledge I seek cannot be found in any book. You see, I have a… slight problem you may be able to help me resolve, Ruby.”
“And what sort of problem might that be, m’lord?” She was mauling him again, her mouth hot and wet against his neck, her yellow teeth nipping at his flesh.
“Ouch!” Anselm winced. “’Tis a rather… intimate matter.”
“Oh, you can trust me. I am most discreet, m’lord.”
Should he trust a whore with his most intimate failing? Embarrassing as his affliction was, it had gone on for too long. He needed to know once and for all if his cock was able to respond to anyone but Miriam. Who better to help him discover the truth than a whore in a foreign port?
“What’s your name, my fine sir?”
“Edric,” Anselm replied with a smile. “Edric of Edgeway.” It would serve the bastard right if word of his impotence ever made its way back home to the Norlands. “I, er, cannot… get it up.” He nodded down meaningfully at his prick.
“Well met, Sir Edric.” Taking Anselm’s hands, Ruby placed them upon her bare breasts. “Let me see if I can relieve you of your wretched curse, then.” She nibbled his neck again, pressing her body against him while her groin undulated against his, coaxing him to respond.
“Do you think you can?” he asked. “Cure me, I mean?” He instantly hated himself for the hope in his voice.
“Don’t you worry, m’lord. For two pieces of silver, I’ll give it a bloody good try.”
“Anselm? What is it?”
Miriam’s concerned voice penetrated his fog of gloom. The kind expression in her eyes was almost more than he could bear. “You’ve barely uttered a word all morning” she said, “and you haven’t touched your food.” Reaching across the table, she gently placed her hand over his. “What is it that vexes you so?”
Pushing back his seat, Anselm jumped to his feet, his skin burning from her touch. How was it that she could perform the miracle a skilled whore could not? One touch from her and he was on fire, his cock rising from the dead.
Why her?
If the Spirits had deliberately selected Miriam to be his instrument of punishment, they could not have chosen any better.
Miriam. The one woman he could never have.
Suddenly, all of his foolish hopes were revealed to him in full. Despite all the lies he’d told himself, the truth was, he’d looked forward to spending the winter in port with Miriam. He had eagerly anticipated all those long dark nights and cold days with no urgent tasks to claim him save that of caring for her, his princess. He’d looked forward to getting to know her better, to making her laugh, to simply conversing with her. To spending time in her company.
Quite simply, he wanted her. In bed. Out of bed. It didn’t signify, just as long as he could be with her. Somewhere. Anywhere.
But Miriam was as far above him as the stars were from the earth.
Imbecile!
Over the past few weeks, how many times had he tried to convince himself that he was in control of his feelings? How often had he denied the danger of his predicament? Idiot.
Without knowing it, like a tiny splinter, Miriam had managed to work her way into his heart.
Damn, damn, damn!
There would be no removing her now. Well, aside from death, perhaps.
Being his greatest desire, Miriam was the most fitting way in which to punish him for his life of sin. The Gods had played their hand well. All he could do was to learn to live with the consequences.
“Anselm. you’re beginning to scare me, now. What is the matter?” Miriam’s concern was too much to bear. He did not deserve it. Nor her.
Before she could rise from her seat and touch him again, Anselm forced himself to bow. “I fear I’m a little indisposed, m’lady. Please excuse me.” With that he turned and fled, stalking out from the parlor and through the narrow door that led to the street.
Breathing hard, Anselm headed in the direction of the stables, though in truth he had no real destination. Escape was the only thing on his mind, driving him onward, pushing him to walk faster and faster until he broke into an unsteady jog.
Not fast enough.
Not far enough.
On he ran, breaking into a sprint. Faster and faster. Heart pumping, feet pounding, hurtling down the winding cobbled street. Bypassing the livery yard, he set off up a steep narrow trackway that wound its way up to the top of the white cliffs.
The steep gradient of the path didn’t slow him down. Gasping and panting, he pushed on, running as though every hound from the Underworld had been unleashed and was nipping at his heels.
A flock of sea birds circled overhead, their raucous laughter mocking his efforts to escape. How he deserved their ridicule. Despite all he’d been through since losing Isobel, he’d done what he’d vowed he never would. Fool that he was, he’d wandered too casually into a place where he had no right to be and, inevitably, he had fallen.
Oh—how hard he had fallen!
The path steepened to a near vertical ascent, and Anselm was forced to use his hands to aid him. Carelessly negotiating the most perilous spots, he scrambled over loose rock and sending showers of small stones flying down the hill behind him.
Half running, half crawling, he grasped spiky tufts of sea-grass in lieu of proper hand holds, desperate to reach the top of the cliff. He could no longer hear the gulls’ laughter for the sound of his heart hammering so wildly in his ears. Panting, he coughed and retched, almost vomiting, but he did not slow his pace.
Desperate beyond reason, he tried to conjure up the face of his lost love, but Isobel refused his summons. Although he still recalled the basic structure of her features, he could no longer properly see her eyes. The memory was gone.
Anselm sobbed with despair. Without the windows to her soul, Isobel’s face was reduced to naught but a fair image. An incomplete stranger. A pale ghost of the living woman she had once been.
Instead—and this was the worst blow of all—Isobel’s likeness had been succeeded by another. A woman of dark feline beauty now claimed her place. A woman whose almond-shaped eyes glowed warm amber, bathing the gloom of his rapidly thawing heart with light.
“Be gone!” he cried, so violently that his words startled two fishwives who were making their way arm in arm down the cliff path—with large woven baskets attached to their backs. They hurriedly stepped aside, allowing the ranting madman to run by. Anselm might have apologized if only he could breathe. But he did not stop. He could not.
He dared not.
On and on he ran, staggering slowly upward, ignoring his hammering heart, aching lungs, and the muscles of his legs as they screamed in protest.
Suffer and be damned. He deserved to be punished.
How could he? How could he possibly love someone else, especially a woman he had no right to love.
At last, Anselm reached the cliff’’s summit. Casting himself down, he fell sprawling onto the rough grass, gasping, heaving, and sobbing all at the same time. Once his heart rate slowed, he rolled onto his back and stared up at the scudding clouds.
He would overcome this weakness. No matter what the cost, he would master his foolish emotions and regain control. Once Miriam was back with her brother, Anselm would be free; free to run and cast off those tender shackles.
Love was for other men, not for him.
He’d tried it once and the taste had almost killed him. No, only a half-wit would dive into that particular fire for a second time.
Chapter Thirty-Four
In the chamber she now shared with her sister, Miriam was obliged to listen to Catherine’s many complaints, muttering an infrequent, non-committal sound as required.
“What a dreadful place this is—No, leave that alone,” Catherine snapped as their young maid made to touch her new cloak which she’d left carelessly draped over the back of a chair. “Have you any idea how much that garment cost? Don’t soil it with your filthy fingers, girl.”
The poor maid flushed quite scar
let. “Sorry, m’lady.” But of course Catherine took no notice.
“I simply cannot wait until we reach civilization again. Although the Norlands barely qualifies as such, surely it must be an improvement on this louse-infested midden.”
“Please lower your voice, sister,” Miriam hissed from her seat beside the small window which she’d been staring through for the past half hour. “There’s no need to announce our business to the world, is there?” Catherine could be a right royal blabberwort at times. Hadn’t Anselm and Hugh warned them to be cautious whilst in port?
“How dare you even think to chastise me,” Catherine retorted angrily. “Were it not for your thoughtlessness we would be safely back in the Nor—”
“Thank you, Betsy,” Miriam said with a conciliatory smile for the poor flustered maid. “That will be all for now. I’ll call if we need you.”
Bobbing a hasty curtsy, Betsy gathered their lunch tray and fled from the room. If only Miriam could follow her. Being separated from Catherine had done nothing to reduce the rift between the two of them.
“Wonderful! And now you go dismiss the maid when I still have need of her—”
“Oh, do shut up, Catherine,” Miriam cried, getting up and rounding on her sister. “For once in your stupid, spoiled, entitled life, pray, be silent and listen.”
Catherine’s jaw dropped, her blue eyes wide with shock, but at least she’d stopped talking. No wonder she was surprised, for Miriam so rarely stood up to her. Usually, she was content to back down and keep a semblance of fragile peace between them. But not today.
“We must be discreet. Anselm says it would be unwise to reveal our true identities, especially in a place where we have so few guards, and I’m inclined to agree wi—”
“Anselm?” Catherine arched one fine golden brow. “Shouldn’t that be Sir Anselm? Or has your journey with him been more of a pleasure than a trial, eh? All alone in the wilds, with—”
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