by Anna Butler
They beamed at each other. Ned and I turned away considerately to allow them to seal their engagement in time-honoured fashion. Only when the soft murmuring stopped did we turn back to herd them towards the autocars and their wedding. Theo tucked Nell in close to his side and escorted his unblushing bride, while Ned and I ambled along behind them, giving our lovebirds enough space to bill and coo without being overheard.
“Theo isn’t supposed to be exerting himself.” Ned was sly.
Theo moved with stiff caution, and his back was an interesting shade of plum, but Beckett had diagnosed nothing more serious than bruised kidneys. Rest was the best cure.
“I’m sure they’ll manage.” I preferred not to contemplate my little sister’s wedding night in any more detail than that. “Will your father kick up over it?”
“I don’t think so. He’s not unreasonable. He’ll see the advantages. Besides, Theo has my full support. When it comes to tighter ties between our Houses and securing the succession in yours, I prefer your solution to your father’s. I would rather your sister marry my brother, than you marry my sister.”
“Oh, me too! Will Theo mind my asking his son to become Winter-Lancaster in order to be named my heir?”
“I think Theo will be delighted his son will inherit a House of his own one day.” Ned smiled and took my arm. “That will weigh with Papa, too, of course. Besides, he has quite a high opinion of House Stravaigor, these days.”
Had he, indeed? That probably wouldn’t last.
The rhythm was always there, underlying everything.
Our lives for the last few days had been all chaos and confusion—anarchic, even—but at that time and in that place, in a quiet private room, with the muted sounds of a Cairo night drifting in past the half-drawn curtains, we found our peace again. It was there in every touch, every movement, every kiss, every gasp and low moan, every hitched breath and soft-voiced word. With us through entangled limbs, fingers laced together or smoothing heated skin; through kisses flaming like comets across a winter sky; shaking with us through every shattering moment.
Harmony and empathy. Two of the pillars holding up my world.
I never used to believe in love. Not before Ned. He did change me, I can’t deny it. But for the better, I believe. Thanks to him, I felt love then.
And now. And always.
It was hard to breathe. I let my fingers move in the cool, fine linen sheets to ground myself, remind me who I was and where, and raised myself to stare down at Ned’s head, bright gold in the lamplight. He looked back up at me, greeny-hazel eyes warm, expression soft, smiling around the tip of my cock, teasing me with his tongue. First with a languorous sweetness, his tongue flickering so softly, so gently, I was straining to feel it. Then, without warning, he changed the entire cadence. The unhurried touch of his lips became a sudden, hard lick from root to crown and, each time he reached the crown, he stayed there to savour it, mouthing it and swirling his tongue around the tip until I was giddy. Faster. And faster. Urgent. Demanding. And slackened again in an instant. Sweet again. Calming me with lips and tongue.
And all the time, one of his hands trailed up the inside of my leg from knee to the softer skin of the inner thigh, and back again. Over and over. Fingers fluttering and sometimes barely touching, sometimes the harder pad of fingertips pressing and claiming. The other hand he twisted, somehow, to find the bottle of fragrant oil, and while his tongue now teased the skin of my thigh, he smoothed the oil over my straining cock.
By then I was helpless, writhing, hips rising and falling to match Ned’s rhythm. A restrained, quiet pace when Ned had offered slow, undemanding sweetness, faster when he denied me the delicious, calm deliberation for a more frenzied, powerful snap of the hips.
I was the arrow trembling against the pulled bowstring, waiting for the pluck of Ned’s fingers to send me flying.
Perfection.
“Time.” Ned straddled me, shifted so I slid slowly home inside him, rising and sinking, rising and sinking. He bent forward to smother my groans with kisses.
“Oh God.” I fought the urge to ride this wild horse, bucking its frenzy to completion. I reached for him, took the bottle of oil he pressed into my outstretched hand.
I spilled some of it. Of course I did. I was shaking and moving with him, meeting every downwards push with an upwards surge of my hips, getting in deeper and closer on every thrust. It was a miracle I managed to get any oil at all onto my hand to soothe the friction as I grasped his cock.
“Aaah.” He drew in the air in a sharp gasp, his mouth dropping open and his eyes widening.
Not yet.
Not yet.
Ned’s hand closed over mine where it pumped his cock, pressing me in tighter. He gasped again.
Not yet.
But I couldn’t resist for much longer. The arrow was ready to leap from the bowstring.
Then Ned kissed me.
And I lost myself, crashing, shivering, and whining through my teeth. Every muscle spasmed, jerked, and Ned pulled me up to crush me against him as we shuddered and juddered, all jagged breath and me calling upon Ned as a man calls upon his god. Ned’s release was hot against my stomach as my own fired into him, lightning flashing through my veins.
Ned sighed, drooped where he sat, still impaled.
I fell back, trembling in every limb.
Oh, yes.
Perfect.
Later, Ned curled against me, one leg thrown over my hip, his face slack with sleep, his mouth half-curved. If he was dreaming, I didn’t think it was of Prussians and Günter, or Thoth and lost pyramids. Something more restful. More pleasant. I hoped it might be of me.
But even if it wasn’t, it didn’t matter. I listened to him breathe, put my hand against his chest to feel his heart beat.
He’d scared me this time, but he was alive and well, and despite everything, he was happy. I was happy.
It was enough.
He sighed, turned, pressed his face against my neck.
More than enough.
Perfect.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
“You found him, then.”
“It wasn’t so hard, once I knew where to look.”
“No trouble?”
“Oh, we had plenty of trouble.” I gave my father a smile I hoped conveyed the exact amount of rue I was aiming for. Which was considerable. “It appears to be Ned’s middle name.”
He summoned enough energy to raise an eyebrow.
“Trouble of the Prussian kind. We dealt with it. I understand the Gallowglass has spoken to the German ambassador, who’s now requesting a return to Berlin to recuperate. The Gallowglass was quite stern, I believe.”
My father rasped out a harsh chuckle.
“The King had strong words with his nephew too,” I added.
“The Kaiser wouldn’t have liked that.”
“He deserved it. His people cost us Tatlock, sir.”
A frown. “Albert?”
“Yes. The shot was meant for me.”
He lay staring up at his bed canopy, his face expressionless, silent for several minutes. His arms were stretched out on the bed, the fingers of his left hand tapping out some sort of silent tune against the counterpane. “A good man, Albert.”
“Yes. He was. I buried him in Cairo on New Year’s Eve. I didn’t think I could transport him home.”
“He won’t care about that. He did his job, the way he always did. Yes. A good man. I’ll tell him so when I see him.”
It wouldn’t be long.
“I brought Nell home with me from Cairo.”
That roused him. “Cairo? What the deuce was she doing in Cairo?”
“She went with Madame Stravaigor, to see their cousin.”
“Hmmph.” Then, after a moment, “Marie Josèphe will get a pension for the rest of her life according to her settlement. Don’t dispute it.”
“I won’t.”
“Where is she? Nell, I mean.”
Given his dicky heart, I did
n’t say With her husband, tempted though I was. “I’ll call her in a moment. I wanted to warn you first.”
He turned his head on the pillow. The inimical Stravaigor stare was unaffected by physical weakness. Nell came by her indomitability honestly.
“My plan to avoid you marrying me off was to name Nell’s son as my heir. There’s a necessary first step. On New Year’s Eve, Nell married Theo Winter in Cairo.”
I had never expected to surprise him so thoroughly. His eyes widened. “Winter?”
“Yes. We have the formal link to Gallowglass you wanted. Theo and Nell. I believe they’ll be very happy.”
“Winter.” It was said with deep satisfaction. His eyes were hooded under drooping eyelids. He was tiring fast.
A long silence. Then his mouth turned up.
“I was right. At heart, you’re a Stravaigor. You achieve what the House needs by ways I wouldn’t have considered, but you’ll do well as Princeps. You’ll do well by the House. I always thought you would.”
“Did you, now?”
We regarded each other for a few moments. The hard expression that covered an entire multitude of sins softened into an openness I’d never seen before. Emotion or approaching death? I couldn’t tell.
“Never doubt it, Rafe.”
“Did you plan it, replacing John with me? Was that always your intention?”
He stopped playing silent tunes on the counterpane, using his thin fingers to pluck weakly at the rich fabric instead. “My father arranged my marriage to Marie Josèphe, you know. If I had known Elizabeth then…” His voice faded and he turned his face away. “John was ruined by being First Heir from birth. Corrupted by it. Warped. I was not a good father to him. He disappointed me, and I frightened him.”
I’d seen that for myself. “Yes.”
“You weren’t frightened of me. Cautious, and rightly so, but not afraid. I failed with John. I was saved from failing with you, by chance. When your mother died, you were safest in ignorance of who you were—your ignorance and everyone else’s. That protected you. Allowed you to grow outside House politics, as I intended. You were never out of my sight, but I kept my distance. So when you came home after South Africa, I didn’t have a spoiled, childish man like John. I had the embodiment of everything your mother had been. Strong, intelligent, independent, big-hearted.” He rasped out the harsh chuckle again. “She challenged me as no other creature in this world could. At every turn, she made me face up to what the House had made me, forced me to reassess everything I’d ever thought important. And there you were, doing the same from the first instant you walked into my study that Christmas Day. You look more like me, Rafe, than your mother. But she lives in you. So very strongly.”
“I have no memory of her.”
“I have mine. The one precious thing I can’t leave you in my will.” He stilled his restless fingers and held out his hand.
A gesture I had never expected from him. I hesitated, but only for an instant. His skin was papery and hot.
“I knew, when I saw you, I could save the House from my mistakes and from John. You didn’t like how I did it, I know, but it was for your own safety. You’ll change the House, but it will thrive. I’m sure of that.”
I wished I was.
“Call in Eleanor so I can tell her how proud of her I am. The way I am of you.”
I was left with nothing to say. So I nodded and went to bring my sister in to make her farewells.
“Stravaigor.”
The Gallowglass inclined his head in a gesture of acknowledgement, indicating a certain level of respect and equality without conceding absolute parity. It was very neatly done.
“Sir.”
He smiled. “Not any longer, Rafe. ‘Gallowglass’. You have the right now.”
I was supposed to be the epitome of restrained grief, in House dress with even my cravat a dull black. Restrained grief did not wriggle, although it was a struggle. “I’m not accustomed to it yet.”
“No. I remember the feeling very well. I was older than you, too, by more than twenty years. You’re the youngest Princeps in the Imperium. Don’t let anyone treat you with an ounce less respect than they would have given your father because you are young and you haven’t accustomed yourself to the change.” He inclined his head again. “Stravaigor.”
I could take a hint. I gave him back the nod, judged to the exact same degree. “Gallowglass.”
That satisfied him. “My condolences, Stravaigor.” He turned to stand beside me, surveying the room.
The drawing room at Stravaigor House held the cream of the Imperium. Every House Princeps in London was present, every man jack of them in formal House dress and sporting black gloves and armbands to honour my father. When this public reception was over, the private obsequies would follow. I’d take him to the estate in Nottinghamshire. His place in the family vault awaited him.
Most of the other Principes were distant, wary. The Scrivener and the Jongleur had welcomed me. The Cartomancer had given me a gruff greeting, but then he was balancing awareness of how much the content of his coffers depended upon the work of my people trading around the world, against my unmitigated cheek in marrying my sister to a Gallowglass scion without asking his permission.
Then the Gallowglass said, “I once told you I’d ally with House Stravaigor when you were Princeps. I would be pleased to do so. If you wish it.”
Restrained grief did not gasp aloud, any more than it wriggled, but it was a close thing. I hadn’t been certain how he’d taken Theo’s marriage to Nell and how it would affect his relations with my House. Certainly, if the Gallowglass had any reservations, he’d kept them private. Nell had told me she’d been welcomed into the family. I’d wondered if he’d be a touch cooler towards me, but this offer suggested not.
I took a moment to regain my equanimity.
“I couldn’t openly leave the Cartomancer for an alliance with you without a major rupture in relations between you and him. That would go ill for the Imperium. Besides, I’m not convinced I need to be allied with any Convocation House. We have our fingers in every major financial pie. Everything going into and out of this country in trade—every last thing—goes through my House and my agents. We’ll do well to copy the Scrivener and aim for an independent stance within the Imperium. I don’t intend to mend my fences with the Cartomancer any further than they are now. I’ll drift away, gradually and carefully, and I’ll work with all the Houses on equal terms. I’m not good at bowing my head.”
When I found the silence hard to bear, I looked at him. He appeared to be trying not to laugh. Well, it was a funeral. Not exactly a cause for mirth.
“I wonder if your father knew what he was doing, letting you loose on the Imperium.”
My father had failed rapidly after our last long discussion. He’d lived long enough to speak to both his daughters and to welcome Theo, but not long after, sank into a quiet that ended two days later with him speaking a single word the moment before he died—the embodiment of his motives for everything he’d done in the last thirty-three years.
Elizabeth.
“Oh.” I signalled the butler to replenish our glasses, and once he had been and gone, half turned to face the Gallowglass. “I think he knew exactly what he was doing.” I raised my glass. “To the old jackal, wherever he is now.”
The Gallowglass smiled and clinked his glass against mine. “To the old jackal, who’s doubtless having the last laugh. May he rest in peace.”
I was on the train to Nottingham—a private train hired for the occasion, with my father’s coffin under its black pall under honour guard in the last carriage—before I fully realised who was still with me. Who hadn’t been more than a few yards away at any time since I’d returned from Cairo.
“Shouldn’t you be in Gallowglass House?”
George Todd shrugged. “My orders were to stick close, sir, and no one’s bothered to rescind them. Mr Edward was most particular about it. Since you’ve lost Bert Tatlock, I’m to s
tand in for a bit.”
“What if I don’t replace Tatlock?”
His shrug was more pronounced. “Then I reckon it will be a long bit.”
“And if I offer you Tatlock’s place?”
George at least stopped shrugging and looked thoughtful instead. “Well, guards don’t often change their House, but given you and Mr Edward are such friends, it’s not such a big jump. If you offered, Mr Edward said I was to consider it.”
“You couldn’t offer it to anyone better,” Hugh put in, from his seat opposite me. A wholly uninvited opinion, of course, but I respected Hugh’s good sense.
I respected George Todd.
I nodded. He nodded. Nothing more was needed. I’d acquired a new chief guard with remarkably little effort on my part.
It appeared I was a proper Princeps, after all. I suspected that wherever Tatlock was, he was laughing himself silly.
March 1903 was a dismal wet and windy month, and my sole consolation against both the weather and the demands of my new position was deserting me the next day for Cairo and Hermopolis.
“I’ll only be gone for a month,” Ned said, with as much gravity as possible when a man was naked and sweaty, having just spent an hour rolling on my bed with me in amorous congress, as I believe the legal term has it.
“Hardly seems worth it.” I rolled onto my back and stretched out my arms and legs. I had been deliciously well loved, and was enjoying the sensual languor that overcomes a man in my position. I lay and watched the firelight playing on the ceiling, little orange flickers darting about between the shadowy corners.
“Perhaps.” Ned blew out a disconsolate sigh “It was such a crushing disappointment to lose the pyramid. We could have learned so much. All the little machines and models we brought back are fascinating, but utterly incomprehensible. Without the papyri, we’ll never know what they meant, what they did. I can’t believe how much knowledge was lost.”
He regretted. I rejoiced.
