Squire's Quest

by Judith B. Glad

  Big brown eyes--his mother's eyes, and his--inspected him. "The scars don't hardly show. I thought you'd be really ugly, but you're not. I like your face." Her smile flashed, and he found himself smiling back. Talking to her was probably the easiest thing he'd do all day.

  "I like yours too. Are you hungry?"

  "Like a bear." She giggled. "Mama says I have a hollow leg."

  Merlin lifted the edge of the tablecloth and pretended to look underneath. "Doesn't look hollow to me."

  "Silly! You can't see. It's under my skirt."

  Waggling his eyebrows, he looked again. "Oh, yes I can. Hollow legs show right through clothes. My little brother had one, and I could always see it, no matter how heavy his britches were. I can't see yours."

  "Gwennie, do you want pancakes?"

  It was the first time he'd heard her speak and the sound sent tingles up and down his spine. Her voice still had a husky edge to it, a tone that had once--and still--held a promise of passion.

  The conversation became general, except for him and Cal. Neither of them spoke more than necessary. She was watching him, though. Every time he looked her way, she'd duck her chin and pretend what she was pushing around on her plate was real interesting.

  He glanced her way a lot, unable to look anywhere else.

  At last everyone was finished eating. With relief he stood when his father and uncle did, followed them to the lobby. Silas and the women headed for the door, but Pa put a hand on his arm. "Hold on. We need to sort this out."

  "Sort what out? I thought we were going home."

  "We are. Your ma's decided you and your-- And Callie need time to talk things over. We'll take the girl and go home. You can stay here or go to your place, or whatever. Just do it together. Maybe you won't be able to decide what you want today. You've been apart a long time and are as close to being strangers as makes no difference. The rest of us being around will only make gettin' reacquainted harder."

  "Pa--"

  "Merlin, I haven't told you what to do since you went off on your own at sixteen. But this time I'm doin' it. You and that woman you married need to decide what to do. And while you're decidin', remember you've a child to think of."

  His father had that dangerous look about him, the one that used to scare Merlin when he was little. "Yes, all right. But what about the chores?"

  "I'll send Abel and the oldest Sylvester boy out. They can stay 'til you're ready to take over."

  He made one last attempt. "What about Guinevere? She'll miss her mama."

  "After a day or two, maybe. Right now she's tickled pink at having a grandma and grandpa and a pony to ride."

  With a snort, Merlin said, "You don't fight fair."

  "Fightin' fair never won no battles." Pa clapped him on the shoulder and strode to the door where the others waited.

  Cal was standing apart from them, wearing a set expression. She's no happier about this than I am.

  He waited until she was alone before joining her. "I reckon we've been given our orders. Do you want to stay here or go to my place?"

  He'd never seen green ice, but if there were such a thing, it would look just like her eyes. "Here. It's neutral territory."

  "I'll get us rooms then."

  "Two rooms."

  "I never thought anything else." But he darned sure was going to get them next to each other, with a connecting door.

  * * * *

  They ended up with the hotel's only suite. It had two bedrooms and a sitting room, so they had their neutral territory. When they'd moved their things, Merlin suggested they order up some tea. "And begin negotiations," he ended, with a smile he knew was as humorless as he felt.

  "You must have found your memory," she said, once they were seated opposite each other at the small, round table.

  "Some of it. Not everything."

  "How convenient. Too bad it didn't happen sooner. Or was it more convenient not to have a wife?"

  "I always knew I had a wife. Abner told me, and so did that woman--what was her name--the one who stood up at our wedding. The sheriff told me you were dead. He gave me this." He tossed the ring, with its cracked emerald, on the table. "I couldn't remember you, had to be told my own name, but I mourned you, Cal, along with everything else of my past."

  She reached for the ring, and then drew her hand back. "They took it from me. They put it on the finger of the woman they'd left in the cabin. She was a whore, and they killed her, just so you'd think I was dead."

  He leapt to his feet, leaned across the table. "Your father did that?"

  With closed eyes, she said, "My own father would have sold me to the highest bidder, sooner or later."

  Merlin cursed, using words he'd never thought to speak. When he realized Cal was staring at him in shock, he forced himself to sit, commanded his fight-ready body to relax. "I'm sorry. I should never have spoken so in your hearing."

  "I never heard you cuss before."

  "And I hope you never will again. I was raised to watch my mouth around women."

  Their eyes caught, held. Neither spoke for many ticks of the fancy pendulum clock on the wall.

  "How did you get away from your father? Did he know you were...were expecting?"

  "No, and I was afraid of what he'd do when he found out. I was starting to show when he and one of his men got into a fight. They killed each other. Lily and I--"

  "Lily?"

  "One of Pa's girls-- No, don't keep asking questions. Let me tell this and then I'll fill in what you want to know."

  She told of their flight to Denver, where Lily was sure Tilly would take her back. Of how Tilly had given her a job as cook, had taken care of her, had been the only grandmother Guinevere had ever known. He was appalled that she'd lived in a whorehouse, that his daughter had been raised in a whorehouse. He didn't care if Tilly was a friend of the family. It had been a whorehouse.

  When she stopped speaking, he asked the question that had been at the forefront of his mind ever since he woke up with the missing parts of his life in place. "Why didn't you come looking for me, once you knew you were safe? How could Tilly not have recognized my name?"

  "I never told her. Pa knew your name. So did Deed. I was afraid Deed would come after me, and so was Tilly. I told her my married name was Murphy, but not to tell anyone. I went by her name in Denver. Evans.

  "A good thing I did, too. Deed came looking, a year or so later. He showed up at Tilly's one night. I was in the other house, taking care of a sick baby. He had four armed men with him. They searched the house. Goodness, what a scandal that was. Some of the customers never came back."

  Again she reached for the ring, touched it with one finger. "I'm glad you got this back, but I don't reckon it's worth much with the stone broken."

  "The stone's not important." He was still trying to get his mind around all she'd told him. "Great God, what a tangled web."

  "Yes, a real mess."

  Again they sat silent, staring at each other.

  There was still a look about her of the waif he'd picked up in Eagle Rock. A shadow of fear in her eyes, one he'd all but chased away when he'd asked her to marry him. In time he would have banished it completely, he was certain.

  "Do you want to try again?"

  He wasn't aware he'd spoken aloud until her chin came up and her eyes opened wide.

  "What?"

  "Shall we try again? We've had eight years stolen from us, Cal. Eight years we could have spent building a strong marriage like my folks have, making a family. It seems a shame to let your father win."

  Her chin quivered as she moved her lips. When she started gnawing on the bottom one, he had to smile. One thing, at least, hadn't changed.

  "You didn't love me," she finally said. "You were mighty fond of me. Oh, you said you'd love me, along with honor and cherish, but you never said you loved me. I settled for that then."

  His heart seemed to stop beating as he waited for her to finish.

  "I'm not sure I'd be so willing to settl
e now, all things being equal. But we've a daughter to think about, Merlin. She needs a father along with a mother. I can't think of a man who'd be a better one than you, because I remember how you took care of me when I wasn't all that much bigger than she is.

  "I can't believe you've changed so much from the man I married. Your uncle says you're a good man, and I believe him, because I've seen what a good man he is. So yes, if you're willing to give us a second chance, so am I."

  The hand he held across the small table shook. The hand she put into it trembled.

  He squeezed, and released. "Sit right there."

  "Where are you going?"

  "After champagne. And some glasses. There's only one way to seal our vows."

  * * * *

  Callie looked at him over the rim of her glass. Tiny bubbles tickled her nose as she waited for him to speak.

  "Calista, a long time ago I made a promise to love and honor you, to live with you and cherish you, to be faithful to you, for all the days of my life. I pledged to protect you from danger, too. I failed to keep any of those promises. I'm making the same ones again, and I'll keep it them this time, God willing."

  He touched his glass to hers, but before he could drink, she said, "The words I spoke then came from my heart, Merlin, and they are still there. I am your wife and I want to stay your wife for as long as we both live, whether it's for one day, or until we're both old and gray."

  "Amen." His mouth widened in a smile, the one she'd fallen in love with when she was just a child. The one she had not seen since he'd ridden away from her more than eight years ago.

  With their eyes seeing deep into each other's souls, they drank. And flung the glasses into the elegant marble fireplace.

  With a laugh, he picked her up and spun about. "It's all coming back. I remember what we did next. Do you?"

  She did. "Yes, please," she whispered as she buried her flaming face against his neck.

  Holding himself in tight rein, Merlin laid her gently on the wide bed. What he wanted to do was rip every stitch from her body and bury himself in her heat. He forced himself to lie beside her and kiss her gently.

  When her tongue timidly touched his, he opened his mouth over hers and explored boldly. Fists clenched, he touched her nowhere but her mouth, until he felt her hands creep around his neck. She'd been an eager partner in their love-making once, but after what she'd been through, he wondered if she would ever again be able to enjoy it again.

  Hating himself for the need to know, he said, "Cal, how long were you... How long before you got away from your father?"

  "Hmm? Two months? We got to Denver the end of March, I think." As if to silence him. she took his bottom lip between her teeth and bit lightly.

  Heat lightning flashed, making him shudder with need. "Wait. I need to know. Did they...any of the men...did they hurt you?" Her fingers were busy undoing his tie, tugging his shirt free of his britches.

  "Hurt me? No, of course not. They knew better." She nuzzled his neck, licked her way along his jawline.

  "Your father would...have had them...thrown out?"

  "Merlin, you know nobody bothers the cook. Not if they don't want salt in their coffee and vinegar on their steak."

  "The cook?" He caught her busy hands. "Wait a minute. You said your father put you to work."

  "He did. In the kitchen." She pulled back then, stared at him. "Oh! You thought..."

  "Well what was I to think, when you said he ran a whorehouse in Sidney? Right after you told me he was planning to sell you to the highest bidder."

  Her arms tightened around him and she tucked her face into the angle between his head and shoulder. "He would have, if someone came along and offered him enough for me. That's why I made darned sure I stayed in the kitchen. Not many of his customers ever saw me, and those who did saw a plain woman who never did more than frown at them."

  "Then you--" He knew his meaning was clear when she smiled.

  "No one ever touched me, not there and of course never at Tilly's. I was the cook. That's all."

  "Thank God!"

  "I did, often." Another nip, this one on his neck. "Can you say the same?"

  Now why in tarnation did I ever start this conversation?

  "That I never touched a woman? No, but never with love, and not very often."

  "Thank you for not lying. Mrs. Dewitt explained how men are different from women. She told me I'd be crazy to have expected you to be faithful to a dead wife."

  "Soomey talks too much." He went to work on the tiny pearl buttons closing her bodice. "So do you. I can't concentrate with you chattering."

  "Then I guess I'll have to find something better to do with my mouth." She tossed his collar aside and reached for the top button of his shirt.

  He finally pulled the last button free and bent his head to nuzzle between her breasts, pushed high by a lace-trimmed corset. Over the corset clung another garment, made of a fine, transparent fabric. It seemed to be closed at the center with a pale green ribbon, but when he untied it, nothing happened. "Cal?"

  "Um-hmm?" She'd somehow gotten his shirt half off one shoulder and was nibbling her way across it.

  "I need some help here."

  "Oh?"

  "I've never undressed a woman. Not since you, and back then you didn't wear all these layers."

  "Oh, dear, that could be a problem. Should I let you figure it out for yourself?"

  "Depends on how long you want to wait. Myself, I'm not feeling very patient." He slipped the fingers of one hand into the top of the corset. Her skin was as soft as he remembered. A faint, almost forgotten scent of spice came to him. He breathed deeply.

  "It's a lot easier to undress if I have a maid. We used to help each other on Sundays, back in Denver. That was the only time we wore all this folderol."

  Sundays? Did whores go to church? He could see where Cal would, her being a respectable woman, but he'd understood the women she'd lived with were Tilly's girls. He decided it was a question for later. Much later. She'd sounded right fond of them.

  "I've always had a hankering to be a lady's maid. But you'll have to tell me what to do."

  His hands shook as he followed her instructions, unbuttoning, untying, unlacing. Her scent, spice mixed with the natural musk of her arousal, was like intoxicating incense in his nostrils. Her taste, whenever he managed to get a lick in, was salty-sweet, the most delicious nectar he could imagine. When the last petticoat fell to the floor with a silken whisper, leaving her clad only in a transparent something--a chemise, he supposed--under the hourglass-shaped corset, and silk stockings tied above her knees with green satin garters, his body went even harder, his mouth even drier. "Oh, Cal, I'd forgotten how you-- You're beautiful."

  "And you've fallen behind." She stepped back from his encircling arms. "Those britches have got to go. And the waistcoat. It's in the way." She pushed his vest off and let it fall behind him, before reaching for the buttons on his britches.

  "Wait. My boots." Merlin sat on the edge of the bed and hiked up a pantleg to show her the low boot underneath. "This works better with a bootjack, but since I don't have one here, I guess you'll have to help me."

  "No laces?"

  "Not for dress-up. Sit astraddle my leg. No, with your back to me."

  When she complied, he took a moment to enjoy the sigh of her pink bottom, not really concealed by the transparent fabric of her chemise. "Take hold of the boot by the heel and pull."

  The boot slid off easily. She tossed it aside.

  "Now the other one."

  This time when she took hold, he set his stockinged foot on her bottom. "That one's always tight," he said, as he curled his toes inside the boot. While she tugged and pulled, he let his toes wander the soft curves of her bottom, poke between the firm, pink cheeks.

  She shrieked and dropped his foot. "What are you doing?"

  "Just helping you. Did I push too hard?"

  She faced him, arms akimbo. "Merlin Lachlan, you know good and well--"
>
  He bent, despite the erection that made every movement torture, and pulled his boot off, followed it with both socks. "Come here," he said as he sat up straight.

  Boldly she stepped into his arms. "The laces are in the back. They're tied in a bow, with the strings tucked up underneath."

  He found them, tugged on one long end. The bow came apart and he started loosening laces as quickly as his clumsy fingers would allow. As soon as they were loose enough, he slid the corset down. She stepped out of it and stood before him, clad in the chemise that did little to conceal her richness.

  "Enough torture." He pulled her close. "Oh, God, Cal, I can't wait. I want you now."

  She wiggled against him, nearly setting him off.

  "Don't touch me." Quickly he stripped, knowing if he let her do it, he'd disgrace himself.

  She matched him in urgency. While he was stepping out of his britches, she was skinning out of her chemise. She came to him naked, soft, hot, and eager.

  They tumbled together onto the bed. He rolled them over once, not wanting to end up on the floor. Before he could suggest it, her legs were wrapped around his hips. "Now," she gasped, and lifted herself.

  He slipped inside her, so naturally he might have done it every day.

  She moved.

  He exploded.

  When the paroxysms ceased to consume him, he groaned. "I'm sorry." His tongue could barely shape the sounds.

  Her hand was gentle as it stroked along his spine. "Don't be. I expected you'd be on a hair trigger."

  That only made his embarrassment worse. "You did?"

  "I may have only been the cook, but it didn't mean I was deaf. The girls liked to talk about their customers, especially at breakfast. I'm afraid I may shock you with some of the things I learned."

  He rose on his elbows and looked down into her face. "You are? You did? Like what?"

  Her cheeks went rosy. "Like this." She squeezed him where he was still within her, spent but not quite limp. Again, and again, until he was hard and ready, all over again.

  This time, he made it good for her. Her small shriek, as she reached completion, told him so.