Our room was rather large, with a sitting area and desk to work at. Resting in the armchair in front of a large mirror, I inhaled deeply, trying to take comfort in the smell of the bouquet of flowers arranged on the table just beside me. “How many are there?”
“The maid ye just met, the cook, and Monsieur Claudel, who is in charge of running the finances of the house,” Tristan replied, knowing I was still uncomfortable over our hired help. “He will bring everything to you for approval, of course. There’s also a coachman who can be called, should you wish to go anywhere.”
“That’s it?”
He smiled at the relief in my voice. “Ye are very peculiar about having people work for ye, Sam. Aye, that’s it. They take care of this place whenever someone comes to stay and are well acquainted with all her corners and needs. Ye won’t have to do much.”
“Just approve everything.”
“Aye. Ye are the Lady of the house.” Sitting on the edge of the bed, he began to undo the ruffle around his neck, pulling at it slowly as he watched me.
Muffled voices filtered through the closed door. It sounded like Abella was being instructed on how things went in the house, should she need help with anything.
“Abella,” Tristan said thoughtfully, tugging the lacy cloth completely off and tossing it on the mattress. “Father Torres introduced ye?”
“He did.” Nodding, I stood and went to look out the window, staring over the rooftops of the city stretching out in front of me.
“She will be good for ye,” he said decidedly, removing his jacket with care.
“Oh, really? And how can you tell that? You only just met her when the carriage you sent to the inn dropped us off.” Smiling, I turned to him, trying not to laugh as he set to undoing the many buttons on his long vest; Tristan wasn’t really the type who liked dressing up.
“Ye’ve both got that same defiant air about ye,” he replied, chuckling. “Though, come to think of it, defiance seems to get ye in the most trouble.” Pausing for a second, he fumbled over a button, cursing softly at it.
“Here, let me help you.” Crossing to him, I put my own calloused fingers to the task, moving through it with a little more ease than he had. “I guess our hands aren’t very practiced for the finer things of life.” Watching them together, his touch brushing over mine, I took in the wear and tear from years at sea, doing hard labor.
No, we had never been meant for the fancy court life we now found ourselves thrown into.
“Tell me about your day,” I asked, wanting to distract myself as I moved on to the buttons of his shirt. “I haven’t spent so long away from you in . . . I don’t even know how long.”
“What do ye want to know?” Grinning, he ran a finger down the side of my neck, watching me as I continued to undress him. Blushing slightly under his gaze, I knew what he was thinking. I’d seen that expression more than a few times since we’d been married. I’d seen it often enough before that as well, but he’d never gotten what he wanted then.
“Everything. Is the Temple still the Knight’s headquarters?” My voice caught some and I grinned. He knew I was onto him . . . that I was trying to sidetrack him and find out what was going on. What neither of us knew was if it would work, and for how long.
“Yes. In part, that is. It’s been overrun through the years and the city has built up around it. We are very easily able to conduct our business there without being noticed. I’ll take ye, tomorrow, if ye’d like. The Grandmaster has asked for ye, just as I’d said he would.” He stroked my collarbone, stopping on the spot he knew was most sensitive, teasing me.
“Well, I guess I’d want to meet a time traveler, if I ever got the chance,” I joked, clearing my throat heavily. “I don’t know much, though. I hope he’s not wanting to ask me lots of questions.”
“I’m not sure, lass. He only asked that I bring ye when it was convenient for ye.”
“How polite of him.” I snorted, pulling the last of the laces on his pants free. “Did you want me to get a bath set up for you?”
“No, I mean to just change for supper. I’m going back out once it’s dark.”
“What? Why?” I tried to hide the disappointment and frustration that had immediately blossomed at his words, the playful manner I’d been acting in dying away instantly, but he saw it anyway.
“It’s a secret society, lass.” He gently sat down, pulling me onto his lap. “And secrets are best kept after dark, aye?”
Sighing deeply, I leaned my head against his shoulder, remaining quiet. We’d only been in Paris for a day and already he was gone more than he was around. No wonder he’d wanted to be with me now—it was probably the only time we had for the foreseeable future.
“Will you be able to tell me what happens at your secret meeting?” I finally asked, tracing the veins on his arm.
“New members are being inducted. I’ll be back before morning. I promise.”
“Fine—”
A knock at the door interrupted the kiss I’d intended to give him and I moaned, standing up. “Who is it?”
“Would you like me to help you dress, Samantha?” Abella asked on the other side. “Monsieur Claudel says dinner will be served in half an hour.”
“I’ll help her tonight, Abella. Thank you,” Tristan called. Turning, I saw that he had risen as well and was going through the wardrobe beside the head of the four-poster bed, pulling out a new outfit for each of us. Apparently, our teasing time had ended.
“Oui, Monsieur.” Her footsteps faded down the hall and stairs, leaving us in peace once more.
“Come here,” Tristan said gently, motioning me over to him. When I was by his side he smiled, taking my hands in his. “It won’t be for long. The Order is in an uproar over the reemergence of the Black Knights. As soon as I can get the information and ship we need, we’ll be gone. Then it will be just the open ocean, ye and me. Savvy?”
“And an entire faction of Knights bent on murdering us,” I replied, smirking sadly. “Be careful, Tristan. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Ye don’t need to worry,” he stated, releasing my hands in favor of rubbing his fingers along both sides of my jaw. “I’m not going anywhere without ye. Ye’re as much my heart as the one that beats within me.”
Leaning in, his lips pressed against mine firmly, fingers holding my head steady. His touch was warm and comforting, a reminder of the partner he was to me. Slowly, one hand slid down my neck, over my shoulder, past my arm, and onto my hip, pulling me closer.
Sighing, I let my body melt against his, wrapping my arms around his waist and opening my mouth, delighting in the sweet taste of honey on his tongue. His breath was hot, a small moan escaping him as he clutched me even tighter, seeming to match the yearning I had for more than just a few minutes together. We were both done with the teasing, the reality of how much time we’d have together settling in.
Almost desperately, he released his hold on me, lips still devouring mine, and began undoing the buttons on the front of my bodice, sliding the fabric off my shoulders and letting me take it off the rest of the way. Fingers found the tie for my skirt and ripped it loose, as well as the hip pads underneath.
Helping him pull off the bulky underskirts and silly, fashionable contraptions, I laughed, wondering how on earth I’d managed to wear so much for the whole day. It’d taken forever to get into, and here we were, taking it off with just as much effort.
Once I was free from the waist down, Tristan spun me around, pulling my back up beside him and kissing my neck, growling softly as he found a ticklish spot that made me twitch. Making quick work of the corset ties, he pulled the trap off me and swung me around again, tossing me onto the bed.
Trying my best to remain as quiet as possible, I squealed, scooting across the fluffy blankets in just my slip. He was having none of that, though, shaking his head as he climbed over me, pinning me beneath him.
“What about dinner?” I whispered, giggling. “It’s going to take almost half an hour to get
all of my clothes back on!”
“Ye’re sick,” he said in an official tone. “The heat o’ the day made ye light headed. We’ll take supper in our room.”
“And we waited until now to tell everyone?”
“Aye, that we did.” Silencing any further protests, he entwined our fingers above my head, sucking on my collarbone.
“We should probably tell someone, then” I whispered breathlessly, wiggling underneath him. “Or they’ll come back to get us.”
“Let them,” he replied playfully, looking into my eyes. “Ye’re my wife and I mean to treat ye as such.”
“What about Mr. Claudel?”
“Hush yer mouth, Samantha Greene O’Rourke. Ye’re mine for the next little while.”
“Not so tight!” I gasped, grabbing onto the bedpost to keep from falling over. “I want to be able to breathe!”
“Are you sure?” Abella asked, the frown she wore obvious in the tone she used. “There’s a lot of room for tightening. Your waist could look very thin.” She pulled slightly on the cords of the corset to emphasize her point and I struggled for breath again.
“I’ll take air over a slim figure any day,” I assured her, a groan of relief quickly following as she loosened the strings a little. “Thank you.”
“It will need to be tight when you meet the Sun King,” she advised, moving around to grab the next layer of clothing off the bed. “Fashion is very important at Court. There are many rules for lots of things. If you’re not careful, you could give yourself a bad name without even realizing it.”
“Thank you, that made me feel much better about everything.”
If she was offended by my sarcasm, she didn’t say anything, merely smiling, beginning to sling hip pads around me.
“I don’t understand this trend. Women are supposed to have a skinny waist, but huge padded hips? What kind of sense is that?” Pouting, I waited for her to finish tying, watching in the large, almost floor to ceiling length mirror across the room.
“Some of your dresses don’t need the padding,” she offered. “The under skirts are padded enough without them. I’d take them to the Palace, if I were you; they are more French. Whoever made these dresses for you did it in the Spanish style. I hear they wear hoops under their skirts there!”
Raising an eyebrow I watched as she gathered the first skirt I would put on, getting ready to pull it over my head. “You know a lot about fashion.”
It wasn’t a question and she knew it. Carefully, she laid the fabric over me, arranging it around my waist and tying it securely. “Oui, Madame. I do. The lady I was a maid for before was a seamstress. She made gowns for Her Majesty, The Queen, before she passed.”
“I was told the Queen died some years ago.” Sincerely hoping I hadn’t caught her in a lie, I waited for her to answer. I’d taken her into my home in good faith, knowing her past. If she were to lie to me now, though . . .
“Oui. She died when I was only a babe, God rest her soul. My Lady—the seamstress—continued to make dresses for members of Court until her own death, three years ago.” She picked up the main skirt of the gown and helped me put it on as well, adjusting our position so she could look at me in the mirror.
Abella had already dressed herself for the day, a feat I had no idea how she’d accomplished, and stared evenly at my waist as she moved the skirt around. Her own brown skirt stood out in stark contrast to my blue, every bit of her outfit seeming to say that she was only a servant. She’d pinned her long hair back, with tight curls framing her face in a heart shape.
“Abella,” I started cautiously when she turned to pick up the jacket off the bed. “How old were you when the seamstress died?”
“Thirteen.” Holding the jacket out, she waited for me to slide my arms into the sleeves. All I could do was stare at her in the mirror, dumbfounded.
“Thirteen! How old were you when you started working for her?”
“Eight.” Her tone was all business, but I was becoming more flustered by the second.
“Eight? Why so young?”
She met my gaze in the mirror, her mouth twitching some as she motioned for me to keep getting dressed. “My mother was her maid before me. When she died, I stepped in and took her place. My father needed the money and I was the only one who could obtain employment.”
“That’s a lot of responsibility for just a child to hold.” Slowly, I did as she asked, putting the three quarter sleeve jacket on and holding still as she laced the back for me.
“Maybe, but I had a place to live, food to eat, and my father had money to pay his debtors.” Coming around to the front, she handed me the fancy stomach piece, watching as I slid it into the opening of the jacket. When she was satisfied that my clothes looked presentable, she signaled for me to sit. “I’ll do your hair now, if you’d like.”
“No, thank you, that’s okay. I don’t mean to pry, but how did you end up on the streets stealing food? Were you not able to find work after the seamstress died?”
“I worked at a shop for a year before my father made a drunken display of himself. It was obvious then that he needed more help than I’d realized. I had some money saved up, so I quit and stayed with him for a while. I thought—” She paused for a moment, frowning as she looked at the floor. As she struggled with the next part, I felt my feelings toward her growing; she’d had an absent father. Just like me. “He promised he would stop. Every week, he’d cry and promise to go out and find work. It’d been so long, though, that no one wanted him. He was too old, they’d say, too fragile. It hurt his pride. After a while, he stopped trying. When the money I’d saved ran out, I was able to do odd jobs here and there, but there’s been nothing for several months now. The war changed some things. I guess my ability to find work was one of them.”
“And so you resorted to stealing to feed yourself, until you got caught. Because your dad needed you to take care of him.”
“A lot of good it did me, too.” Snapping back to attention, she sniffed, blinking twice, and then looked at me evenly. “As soon as he found out, he declared me the ungrateful ingrate who had ruined his life and tried to cut off my hand for the law. He can take care of himself now. I won’t ever go back there.”
“You won’t ever have to. I promise. Even if it means you come with me when I leave Paris. You will have a job and people who care about you.” Turning, I picked up the brush on the table and ran it through my waist length hair a few times. A few uncomplicated twists and pins later, I was admiring the bun I’d created, a few wisps framing my face.
“You look beautiful, Samantha.” Abella smiled gratefully at me in the mirror and I returned the favor.
“All thanks to you.” I laughed. “Too bad you can’t come with me to meet—er—Tristan’s boss. I would have liked to have some familiar company.”
“You’ll do fine, I’m sure. He’s not the King, after all. Otherwise, I would insist you wear a cap.” She gathered my dress from the day before as she spoke, seeming to be in some type of rush.
“I highly doubt you could get me to wear one even for the King. Do you have somewhere to be?” I asked, chuckling.
“I thought I might take my first week’s pay and buy myself a decent dress,” she admitted, chuckling herself. “That is, if you don’t mind?”
“Buy whatever you want,” I assured her. “It won’t make any difference to me.”
A sharp knock at the door sounded through the room, startling me slightly. “Madame O’Rourke? Your carriage is waiting.”
“Thank you, Monsieur Claudel,” I called back to the kind, but stern man. “I will be right out.” Turning to Abella, I curtsied some and smiled. “Thank you for all of your help. I’ll see you tonight?”
“Before dinner, oui,” she confirmed. “Go now! Don’t keep that man of yours waiting.”
Letting her usher me out of the room, I made my way down the carpeted stairs, smiling at Tristan, who waited by the door in his light green, fancy clothes.
“Mi amore,�
�� he said, clapping a hand over his heart. “Ye look like an angel, lass, truly. Is that a dress Gran had made for ye?”
“It is,” I confirmed. “Though, I don’t think she meant for this angel to breathe in it. However, Abella was kind to me, so I live to see another day.”
Chortling, he opened the door for me and motioned I should go out. On the street, just down the three front steps, waited a black carriage, complete with horse and driver. The man looked to be in his late forties, a cap pulled down around his large ears despite the warm weather.
Stepping around me, Tristan held a hand out to help me in, bowing slightly. “Lady O’Rourke.”
“Thank you, Monsieur,” I replied in faux haughtiness, taking his hand and stepping into the cart with ease. “Where are we off to today?”
“To the old Temple,” he said to the driver as he climbed in. “We have business to conduct.” Sitting beside me, he took my hand in his, squeezed it gently, and then took to examining the city as we passed through her streets.
We headed in a direction I hadn’t explored the day before and I found myself just as caught up in the surroundings as I had been earlier, feeling like I could spend years in Paris and still never see all it had to offer.
“There’s one of the old walls, from when the city was first built.” Tristan pointed at a line of buildings as we moved through an opening between the houses. “The King had the only remaining modern one torn down some years ago.”
“Oh? Why?”
“Paris is safe enough without them.” Shrugging, he looked away again, nodding in the direction of a building rising up in front of us. “That’s it. The Temple.”
I’d been expecting some type of fancy building, shining in the light with all the magnificent splendor imaginable. The Temple was actually more of a fortress, though, with huge walls built around it. Two towers peaked over the top, one higher than the other. Suddenly, I felt disappointed to be seeing something plainer than I’d pictured, like the Templars should have coated the walls in gold, or something. However, the Order had always been logical in my dealings with them, so it only made sense that they would build a sensible center to work from.
Carried Away (The Swept Away Saga, Book Two) Page 8
