by Megan Hart
"Come here." He pulled her onto his lap, her knees pressing the back of the chair, his cock imprisoned between them. "Loosen my shirt."
She opened the buttons, exposing his bare skin. He pulled her closer to kiss her, and she sighed as her clit finally got the attention it had been craving. Edward gripped her hips, pulling her against him belly to belly. Her clitoris rubbed the base of his erection, and she shivered.
He helped her rock her hips more. Their kisses were slow, languorous, but not exactly gentle. His tongue slid inside her mouth, demanding she return the gesture, and his teeth grazed her jaw and throat every so often.
"Lift up."
He slid inside her. They both moaned. Nessa's head fell forward. Their mouths met, hungry for each other. His kisses inflamed her. The bites even more so. Edward's teeth found her throat again and he held the soft skin between them, torturing her with the anticipation of the sting.
He'd told her this wasn't making love, but it had become more than fucking. Their bodies moved in perfect tandem, her climax mounting.
"This feels good?" he asked.
"Aye, it does. . . ." Her words became a gasp when he circled more firmly on her clit. Then, he asked no more questions, and they moved together, each seeking the ecstasy of release. Hers came first, a burst of sparkling bliss radiating through her entire body. Her cunt fluttered, and the next moment she felt the pulse of his cock and heard his cry of joy as he climaxed.
Her head found a place on his shoulder as his arms went around her, holding her close to him. She listened to the sound of his breathing. He softened inside her, but they didn't move apart.
"You shall have to try harder, sir," she whispered after a time.
"How so?"
She smiled, nestled in his arms. "If you truly wish me to fail." Edward sighed and held her closer. "I know, Stillness. I know." Then they said no more on the matter,
"Is she a witch?"
Edward looked up from his book. "Who, Alaric? Your new conquest? She's a bit testy, or so I've heard, but a witch? I wouldn't go that far."
Alaric frowned and eased his long body into the empty spot on the sofa facing Edward.
"No, not Larissa, though testy as a description of her is being kind. No. Your Handmaiden."
Edward, knowing it was useless to do otherwise, set aside the text he'd been reading.
"Why do you ask?"
"Because I'd say she's woven a spell over you." Alaric grinned. "The change is remarkable. The ladies are all atwitter. Even our dear Cillian took me aside to mention it to me. He wanted to know whether you'd been overindulging in herb and worm, for your smile was so ready and bright."
Edward shook his head. "I'll tell him it's no indulgence but his own recent calm behavior that's allowed me this good nature."
"He won't believe you." Alaric reached to the table in front of him and snagged a slice of joba melon. "And if you tell him that, he's likely to head back to his usual ways sooner than later."
"Good point." Edward watched his friend devour the juicy melon. "Do you make love to Larissa the way you eat that fruit? No wonder she's testy."
Alaric rolled his eyes. "Nobody makes love to Lady Larissa, old man. If you count yourself lucky to be allowed to her bed, Lady Larissa quite clearly makes love to you, not the other way 'round."
"She sounds perfect for you, Alaric." Edward knew the lady in question, though not well.
"She does all the work, you get all the benefit."
Alaric sucked his teeth free of the strands of melon before answering. "She rides me like a pony, crop and all."
Edward raised a brow. Further discussion on that matter became impossible as the library door banged open and Cillian burst through, followed closely by his latest lapdog, Persis Denviel. The two men carried jugs of worm and bowls of herb.
"Edward! Edward, my dear one!" Cillian had already been imbibing. His eyes were bright, the pupils dilated, and his pale cheeks flushed. He raised the jug. "And Alaric. Join us!"
"No, thank you." Edward shook his head. "I must ride home and I care not to need tying to my saddle to keep me aboard the horse."
Cillian made a face. "You needn't leave us, Edward. What have you at home that could replace the camaraderie and companionship of the palace?"
At that, Alaric let out a snort and sat up straight. Cillian's red-gold head swiveled toward the other man. Putting a hand on his hip, Cillian strode forward to peer more closely at Alaric.
"You know," he said, then glanced at Edward, "don't you? You know what's put such a smile on our dear Edward's handsome face. Don't you?"
Alaric smiled and bowed his head in deference to the man hovering over him. "It's not my place to say."
Cillian's mind was too sharp to be dulled by worm, and he cast a sharp-eyed gaze upon Edward. "A new lover?"
"Nothing like that."
Cillian moved forward, peering at him. His eyes traveled over Edward's body, his neatly tied cravat, the buttoned waistcoat and perfectly pressed trousers. The gleaming, polished boots. Edward shifted awkwardly under Cillian's bright, searching stare. Alaric had turned, as well. Persis had lit a bowl of herb and lost himself in the fragrant smoke.
"You're better put together. You've always been smartly turned out, Edward, but now"—Cillian leaned in to sniff him—"you smell taken care of. But not a lover? A wife? Have you gone and married some fortunate cunna, my dear Edward?"
"You know I wouldn't marry without informing you." Edward didn't like the bright madness in Cillian's eyes, the madness that said he wouldn't be satisfied until he had an answer.
Cillian reached out to stroke the ribbon clubbing back Edward's hair at the base of his neck. "You didn't do this yourself. You braid your hair haphazardly and tie it with frayed cord."
Alaric let out a chuckle. "He has you there, old man. You look positively tidy." Edward scowled at Alaric. "My lord, I have—"
Cillian's fingers tightened on the bound hair. "Whist. Hush. This is a puzzle, and I dearly love puzzles. Let me figure it out myself."
He leaned closer, his hard grin showing all his teeth. His hand stayed in its place at Edward's neck. His eyes traveled over Edward's face, locking at last upon his eyes. He sniffed again, a deep, slow breath, and the grin turned beatific.
"You have a Handmaiden."
Edward kept his sigh in check by stint of long experience dealing with the irascible and irrational prince. "I do."
Cillian clapped his hands. "Oh, that's rich indeed, my good man! What is her name?"
"Stillness." Edward forced his voice to remain as neutral as his expression, though the prince's reaction made him want to cringe.
"Stillness." Cillian breathed it out, eyes looking upward as he seemed to ponder that. He looked back at Edward. "She is well trained, Stillness. You are clearly closer to solace already."
"Cilly," whined Persis from his sprawled position on the chair by the fireplace, "the bowl's gone out."
Cillian's shrewd gaze narrowed as he looked at Persis. Edward recognized that look, and if Persis knew what was wise, he'd not repeat the tone of voice he'd just used. Persis, however, didn't seem too wise.
Cillian looked back at Edward. "My boy seems to think I'm responsible for keeping his bowl lit."
"Cilly," Persis whined again, languid fingers lifting the bowl for all to see. "It's not smo-o-o-oking."
Edward reached a hand to grasp Cillian's sleeve! "My lord." Cillian looked at the hand holding him, and for the briefest instant his lip curled. The green eyes blazed. Then, quickly as that, he smiled again and extricated his sleeve from Edward's grasp.
"Don't worry, my dear Edward," he murmured with a look across the room to where Persis was fighting to light the bowl again. "I won't hurt him. Badly." Edward sat back with a sigh. "Cillian—"
Cillian turned, and in the split-second swiftness that was only one of the things that made him so unpredictable was in Edward's face. His lips brushed against Edward's cheek as he spoke, low, for only Edward to hea
r.
"Persis has come as willingly as all the others, my dear one. What he suffers is not unwelcomed. Do you understand?"
"I understand, my lord," Edward said, resigned.
Cillian stepped back, grinning. "Sure you won't join us? We have plenty." Edward was no longer certain he'd be heading home, but Cillian's behavior made even more clear the necessity of Edward remaining clearheaded. "No. Thank you." Cillian nodded and drew himself up, straightening his waistcoat. "I should be pleased to make the acquaintance of your Handmaiden, Edward. Perhaps I should think of securing one myself. . . though I must say I gain the same benefits from my current pets and for far less strain upon my pocket."
Edward smiled stiffly. "She's not bound to attend me in any place other than my house, as you well know."
Cillian cocked his head. "Then perhaps you must host a brannigan." Without waiting for an answer, he went to Persis and yanked him up by the cravat, shaking him until the bowl fell from the other man's hands. Persis whined and struggled in Cillian's grip, but not too hard, and it was easy enough to see he enjoyed the attention. Still chastising him, Cillian dragged him out of the library and slammed the door behind them.
"Well," said Alaric when they'd gone. "It would seem you're going to have a party. Shall I be invited as well?"
Edward sighed and scrubbed his face with a hand. "Of course. You're my best friend."
"Am I?" Alaric sounded so oddly wistful it made Edward look up, but it had passed so swiftly he thought he'd imagined it. "Of course I am, you great prat. Who else would put up with your insufferable arrogance?"
Edward laughed. "I think of the two of us, it's you who are the master of that." Alaric buffed his nails on his coat. "Ah, well. Maybe you're right. But about that brannigan: You don't want him meeting her." Alaric's gaze was shrewd. "You're afraid of what he'd do to her."
"Legally, he can do naught to her. She's bound to serve me only until our contract is sundered. If he violates that he'd have to face the Order of Solace, and their influence extends even here, to Firth."
"Wouldn't stop him from trying," Alaric put in. "He's crossed the Law of the Book before."
"This isn't the Law of the Book, this is greater than that. I don't think even Cillian is reckless enough to tempt it."
Alaric shrugged. "You know him better than I. But the fact remains, if he wants to meet her you'll have no easy time convincing him otherwise."
Edward nodded. "I know."
"But what of me?" Alaric's grin was infectious. "Do I get to meet her?" Edward laughed. "If you like. You can come home with me today. Margera will make us a supper. We can play at quoites, the way we used to."
Again, a trace of wistfulness crept into Alaric's tone. "I've missed you, Edward. Missed those times. You've been gone for so long, I'm glad to see you're finally returning."
"Gone?" Edward's laugh was a little forced. "I've been here all along."
"No," Alaric countered. "You haven't. Not really." They stared at each other. "I plead your mercy," Edward said at last. Alaric reached forward to grasp the underside of Edwards elbow, forearm to forearm, as they'd so often done. "You have it. You were lost, that's all. I'm glad to see you've been found."
Edward gripped Alaric's elbow in return. "Aye. I've been found."
"Look," said Alaric, pulling away and giving the rakish grin that had tumbled so many willing partners to his bed, "Cillian's left the worm."
Chapter 5
He was naughtier than ever you'd expect." Alaric waved a hand in Edward's direction.
"Hush." Edward took the glass Nessa had refilled and put his hand lightly on her hair when she Waited at his feet. "Don't listen to him, Stillness, he exaggerates." Alaric scoffed. Nessa had decided she liked Edward's friend within a few moments of their introduction, and her good opinion of him had grown as the evening wore on. The three of them had shared a delicious meal, prepared by Margera but served by Nessa in Edward's chambers. Now the men had opened the jug of worm, and the stories had begun in earnest.
"Don't listen to him," Alaric countered, holding out his glass to be filled. "He's gone half barmy."
"Only half?" Edward put a hand over his heart. "Alaric, your flattery makes my heart skip a beat."
Nessa watched their interplay curiously. Edward relaxed in Alaric's presence in a way she'd yet been unable to coax from him. She studied them both from beneath her lowered lashes, part of the conversation but not active in it unless asked a question. When Edward got up to stumble to the privy, leaving Nessa alone with Alaric for the first time, she helpfully poured him a fresh glass of worm before he could ask.
"You're not violating your contract by serving me?" His grin was meant to be teasing, but she sensed sincere curiosity in his question.
Nessa smiled and knelt. "I believe it pleases my patron to provide his friend with a full cup at all times, so no, I don't think so. Besides, it's done of my free will."
"Ah." Alaric settled back into his chair.
"How long?" She asked quietly.
"Since the first time I saw him," came the answer, and it pleased her Alaric made no pretense at pretending to misunderstand her question. "You?"
"Not quite so long as that," she replied with a small laugh. He sipped. From the privy they heard the loud sound of singing and both turned their heads, then looked back at one another, laughing.
"But you do," Alaric said. "Love him, I mean. How could you not?" Nessa shook her head slightly. "I'm his Handmaiden. Though it would appear I serve him out of love, I can assure you it's my duty alone."
Alaric leaned closer to her, one arm on his knee. "You never love your patrons? Or ... I rather think you love them all."
"If it was only love they required, they wouldn't need the service of a Handmaiden. But yes, I have a necessary fondness for all those I have served. It would leave me quite coldhearted if I didn't."
"But it's not love."
They stared at each other in silence, companionable and non-confrontational, while she pondered on how to answer his question.
"There can be no place for love in a Handmaiden's life," she said finally. "To love someone only to be sent away, in the end . . . over and over again . . . what an unhappy life that would be."
"Why would you have to leave?" He sipped more worm, slowly, and Nessa had the sudden realization Alaric was far less intoxicated than he'd been acting. "If you were in love with your patron, and he with you? Couldn't you stay? Does it not ever happen?" Nessa frowned. "It happens."
"You disapprove?"
"The relationship between a Handmaiden and her patron is very special. It can lead to strong emotions, sometimes on both sides. Yet one must never forget the relationship is a contract. It has a purpose. If I provide one day, one hour, one moment of absolute and ultimate solace for my patron, I've done my part. My responsibility returns to the Order to continue in the task I have set myself to assist in bringing the Holy Family back to this plane."
"You haven't answered my question, Nessa. What if you fall in love with your patron, and he with you? What then? Your love gives him absolute solace and then . . . you leave? Doesn't that make waste of your intent? What happens then?"
"My purpose is to provide solace. Not even the Order believes it's possible to maintain such a state infinitely. Solace can be a fleeting thing or something rather more permanent, but no man or woman can be in a state of solace at all times, forever." Alaric reached for the small bowl of herb on the table, and Nessa took up a flame stick from the fire and lit it for him. He watched her put the burning twig to the full-packed bowl, and he waved the fragrant smoke toward his face, inhaling deeply before sitting back with the bowl still in his hand.
"I think you've again sidestepped me, though I'm too full of worm to figure out how," he admitted. "But it seems like a very lonely life."
She answered quietly. "I know the purpose of my life, and that makes it bearable." Alaric leaned forward to run a hand over her hair, his fingers stroking the long braid hanging ov
er her shoulder. "Would that I had such a purpose," he murmured. "It would surely aid my own yearning for what I'll never have."
Before she could answer, a crash from the bedroom set her on her feet. With Alaric so close behind he nearly tread upon her hem, Nessa went to the source of the noise and found Edward staring in befuddlement at the chair he'd apparently kicked over on his way out of the bath chamber.
"Bother," he said, looking up as they came in. "This piece of furniture seems to have attacked me."
Nessa went to him and took his arm. "Sir, you are a bit unsteady on your feet. Maybe I should help you to bed."
Laughing, Edward pulled her into his arms and bent to nuzzle her neck. "Oh and aye, that would please me very much indeed."
This made her laugh, too, at his out-of-character giddiness. Nessa put her arm around his waist. "Lean on me."
Edward stayed still, refusing to move though she tugged him. He laughed. She laughed. Alaric, leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed, laughed.
"Allow the girl to put you to bed, you daft bastard," said Alaric. "Before you make more of an arse of yourself."
"Stillness would never think me an arse," said Edward staunchly. "She is my Handmaiden and thus bound to see all I do as a delight."
Nessa shook her head with a teasing sigh. "Oh, my lord, you have read the contract incorrectly. I'm bound to do no such thing."
Edward gave her such an affronted look it sent Alaric into another burst of laughter. "No? Do you not think my every action charming? My every word witty? My every. . . everything. . . ahh . . . shite. Put me to bed, before I make an arse of myself." Nessa knew her laughter was undignified, but she couldn't seem to stop. Perhaps the smoke from the herb had affected her a bit, though she'd done no deliberate inhaling. Or maybe it was the sheer delight she felt in the room, pouring off these two men, such good friends.
"Come on, then, you ruddy prat, you're breaking the poor lass's back. Get on with you." Alaric crossed to Edward's other side and slung an arm over his shoulder, easing a bit of Nessa's burden. "To bed with you before you fall over."
Indeed, the two steps the three of them took did result in a fall when Edward tugged his companions with him onto the mattress. They ended asprawl in a tangle of limbs and bedclothes, and the room rang with merriment once more.
