by Nia Farrell
The weekend was all ours—the first one that we’d had alone since Sydney and Mary Margaret had descended upon us. Much of it was spent looking at our printed images. Part of it was spent in formal exercise (by the men) and incidental exercise (by me), taking advantage of the break in the weather to walk to the abbey and see the progress that had been made. I couldn’t go in, of course. Knowing that cold weather was around the corner, Edward had locks installed on the doors, to prevent vagrants from entering and juveniles from being destructive.
The roof had been repaired and re-shingled. The windows had yet to be replaced, but the mortar-and-stone exterior boasted fresh tuck-pointing, eliminating cracks in the joints and prolonging the life of the walls. The search was still underway for two beams to match those inside. Once they were found, it would take a major effort to construct temporary support, remove the damaged beams, and replace them. At one point, we had hoped to be here in early November. Now, mid-month seemed much more likely.
I walked the half-mile back and arrived home to find the men bending elbows in the study, where Daniel was describing the Irish brigade’s actions at Gettysburg. Under the command of Colonel Kelly, we were thrown into action late in the afternoon on July 2nd to support Sickles’s collapsing lines in the Wheatfield. Our battalions had already been reduced from three thousand men to two hundred and forty. We lost a third of those in the Wheatfield, with seventy-six men killed, wounded, or missing. Sickles, the bastard, had lost his leg.
Just the mention of Sickles was enough to get Daniel really going. He saw Sickles as a pompous prig and a murderer, despite being found not guilty. It might have been different if Sickles had caught his wife with her lover and killed him in a crime of passion, but he’d shot him down on the street, for Christ’s sake, and set a new legal precedent with his temporary insanity defense.
That got Edward started on the Code of Hammurabi and insanity defenses in ancient Greece and Rome. From there it spiraled into a theoretical discussion of the murder of King Agamemnon and his mistress, and from there, an overall account of the Trojan War and what Edward hoped to accomplish with his book. I was grateful to leave the Wheatfield behind. The memories of mangled corpses and streams red with blood were already slipping out. I didn’t know if I could force them back and lock them up, once they’d managed to pry free.
Daniel, ever attuned to me, noticed my quietude (and likely my paleness, as I tended to “wash out” when I was struggling with my soldier’s heart) and came to sit beside me. Saying nothing, he took my hand in his and held it while we listened to the professor at his most eloquent. Magic hands and a silver tongue—that was our Edward.
The mere dropping of a dish at supper was enough to fray the thin hold I’d been maintaining. My control unraveled, disintegrating as I melted into my chair and poured onto the floor. Edward gathered me up and carried me to his room, tucking me into the bed that smelled of him, somehow knowing that would help keep some of my monsters at bay. He took off his shoes and lay down beside me, stroking my hair while I cried silent tears for those we’d lost. Eventually my stream ran dry, and I apologized to Daniel when he came to check on me.
“I’m sorry. I know that you need your massage, but I don’t think I can do it. Not tonight.” It was a short leap from Daniel’s leg to Sickles’s, and I had no wish to find myself back in the Wheat Field tonight.
“I will do it.”
I looked at Edward.
He crooked a smile. “We will manage,” he said. “If nothing else, he will enjoy issuing orders for me to follow. Daniel, find Lucy, please. Tell her that she is needed here, to sit with Elena until we are through.”
Daniel was still in shock but managed to rouse himself to the task of getting help for me. As soon as the door closed behind him, I voiced my concern.
“It should be me,” I said. “He’s used to me.”
“Then let him get used to me.” Edward locked his turquoise gaze on mine. “You see how he avoids my touch. Now he will have no choice…unless you would rather have Lucy fill in as nurse? I am certain that she could be trained.”
“No! No. It’s just…It smacks of failure, and I hate that. I hate it. It makes me feel ashamed.”
“Pet,” he rumbled, giving me the look that commanded my attention and demanded my submission. “Honesty, acceptance, positivity, remember? There is no shame in needing to care for yourself before you can help others. Daniel knows this. He understands. He might not like it, of course, but I promise that I will go gently with him. He must learn to trust me, as you do, to give him what he needs. Tonight, it is a massage, nothing more.”
He lifted a hand and traced the worry lines creasing my forehead. “Now, pet, set your mind at ease. All will be well. Believe it. Believe me. Now give me a smile. There, that’s it. We don’t want to frighten Lucy, hmm?”
I sighed and kissed his hand. “No, Sir.”
“Good girl.”
He hummed, a low roll in the back of his throat that spoke of sweet rewards. “Later,” he promised. Preparing for Daniel’s return, he took off his frockcoat and waistcoat and rolled up his sleeves. Remembering all the times that he’d done this, usually before picking up his belt or turning me over his knee, I felt myself grow moist and pressed my legs together. Noticing, Edward smiled, but Daniel returned at that moment, with Babs and her knitting in tow.
Lucy, it seemed, had a date with one of the muscles that had moved my crates.
I breathed a sigh of relief, feeling more comfortable around the older woman. Perhaps it was because she always smelled of baked goods or roasts or whatever she was cooking. Perhaps it was because she’d done such a fine job, raising her son after losing his father. But really, it was her ease with me. Babs seemed to only fear running out of sugar. Sadly, Lucy always seemed a bit leery of me. She was unfailingly polite, but there was a distance between us that might never be breached. I had dared to live as a man and defied social mores. Lucy lived to obey and performed her expected role.
And now she had a beau.
Babs was only too happy to share what she knew while she worked on the dishcloth that she was knitting. “Oh, la! You’ll remember him. The tall one, with the look of a gypsy about him and strong as an ox,” she said.
Yes, I did remember. Black hair. Black eyes, intelligence shining behind them. I’d wondered why he was doing menial labor when he seemed capable of more. Then again, perhaps gypsies faced the same prejudices here as the Irish in America. One took what work one could get.
“He tracked in on the rug, and Lucy let him have it. He ignored her, of course, and went about his business, but at the end of the day, he’s the one who took the broom and swept the carpets clean. Ah, young love!” she sighed. “Well, perhaps not yet, but it looks hopeful, if you ask me. That said, it’s time to find you a lady’s maid. Your hair’s nearly long enough to start dressing it, and there’ll be your gallery opening and rounds of parties at the holidays. We’ll need someone by then for certain, and who knows where Lucy will be? Three months from now, she could be in Ireland and we’ll be hiring a housemaid.”
“Ireland? Is that where he’s from?”
Babs paused from casting off her piece. “Judging from his accent, aye, though Lucy’s never said aught but his last name, when she joked about finally meeting a Prince. Keeps her cards close, she does. Always has, since she come to us.”
She pulled a pair of scissors from her workbasket, snipped the yarn and tied it off. I watched her cast on another set of loops and start the next one.
“Do you knit?” she asked, needles clacking as she worked her way across the row.
“Not really,” I said. “I enjoyed what little embroidery I did—it was like painting pictures with silk—but I’ve always preferred brushes to needles, and oils and watercolors to yarns and threads.”
“I’d offer to teach you, but you have your plate full with your art. All the same, should you ever wish to learn, just say the word, hmm?”
I smiled when she
sounded so very Edward.
“Yes. Well. Thank you. I appreciate your kind offer, and I shall keep it in mind.”
“It’s good for so many things. Shawls, mittens, stockings, gloves, baby bonnets, and wee booties.”
I bit my lip and looked away, hiding my worry and praying that nine days was enough. I wouldn’t know, of course, until my next menses came. Meanwhile, I was holding my breath and counting the days until the third of next month.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
I was late.
The third came and went, with no monthly flag unfurled. Because it was Saturday, Edward and Daniel were both home to witness my panic.
Neither of them seemed overly concerned. They were sympathetic, yes. Properly supportive, when I needed held and reassured, but they didn’t know. They couldn’t know, not until something happened.
They sought to take my mind off things, suggesting an outing, a walk, a carriage ride—as if I didn’t know what that would surely lead to. Men!
I’d finished Young Frank’s portraits and had started on the marble study of The Arrangement the day after I’d posed for Sydney in her studio, with portraits promised in time for Edward’s thirty-sixth birthday on November 1st. When nothing resonated that they proposed, Edward suggested that I work on my sculpture, knowing how carving seemed to soothe me. It wasn’t the carving, of course, but the stone itself. It spoke to me, whispering the secrets that I alone was entrusted to reveal.
And so I carved. And I carved. To avoid Edward’s punishment, I came down for meals and drank fruited water and snacked on apples and cheese between times. The men were the souls of patience with me. Unfailingly kind and willing to make do without me. It helped that Daniel had experienced the magic of Edward’s hands, which proved doubly so when engaged in therapeutic massage. After that first time, we started taking turns. Some nights, who played nurse depended on whether Edward needed to write or I needed to sculpt.
This weekend, it was Edward who kept Daniel company. Edward who performed his massage. Edward who requested the fiddle come out, filling the whole house with music. It drifted upstairs and tugged at me, reminding me that I could not hide forever. Sooner or later I would have to leave my studio and face whatever the Fates had in store for me.
For us.
When I entered the study, Daniel held the note he was playing, then dove headlong into the piece again, playing it until its end. I crossed to where he sat and kissed his cheek, then did the same for Edward. “I’m sorry,” I told them. “It’s just…”
“Honesty, acceptance, positivity,” Edward reminded me, his voice soft and low. “You’ve been honest with us, voicing your concerns. It remains for you to accept that worry changes nothing. You must set your mind on the things that are within your control. If you cannot do that, then you need to surrender control. Submit. Do you trust me to take care of you?”
“Yes,” I whispered, aware of the heated promise in his voice.
“Do you trust me to give you what you need?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Daniel, the door, please, then play. Now, princess, kneel before your lord and master.”
I folded onto the floor, still in my work dress, the black fabric turned gray from the dust that had settled on it as I’d carved. Daniel locked the door, closing us in, then picked up his fiddle and struck up the next tune.
Edward nodded approvingly. “Now, pet, take out my cock. I want to feel those lips wrapped around it. I want to fuck that mouth of yours.”
I unfastened his fly, found the opening in his drawers, and pulled out his burgeoning length. Wetting my lips, I swirled my tongue around the crown, spreading the jewel of pre-cum that gleamed on its tip, tracing the rim, teasing the sensitive spot underneath where the bulbous head capped the sturdy column. He forked his fingers in my hair and shoved his cock into my mouth, feeding me his length, inch by inch, until he reached the back of my throat and made me gag.
“Lesson One,” he growled. “Surely you have not forgotten.”
I adjusted the angle of my neck to accommodate him. He rammed in deep, pushing against my palate, driving down my throat, forcefully enough to make my eyes smart with tears. Controlling my head with his grip on my hair, he moved me like a master puppeteer while he fucked my face.
“Enough,” he said. “I want you bound and naked. Take off your clothes and lie on the daybed, face down.”
I could feel Daniel’s gaze on me as I stripped. Tucking my pile of clothes underneath the daybed, I stretched atop it, on my stomach, and raised my arms over my head, grasping two of the carved spindles that bracketed each end.
“Lovely,” Edward hummed. Shedding his coat and vest, he shrugged off his braces and kicked off his pants, unfastening his cravat and eyeing me with great consideration. “Can you keep your hands in place?” he asked me. “If you cannot, I shall tie you up. If you can, I will simply blindfold you.”
“I can,” I said, certain I could do it. The feel of the wood was comforting, allowing me to draw strength from it.
Edward spread my ankles and bound them to the other end, using his drawers and my pair that he fished from underneath. He bade me lift my head and tied his cravat over my eyes. Denied my vision, I would have to focus on impressions garnered from my other senses—sounds and smells, touch and taste.
“You have been neglectful,” he said. “Worse than that, you have been disrespectful. Not trusting me to take care of you. Hiding away. Worrying on your own. You had chances at lunchtime and supper to correct the situation, and you chose not to. Well, that stops,” he said. “Right now. Lesson Three,” he rumbled. “Can you deny anything that I have said?”
He was right, of course. I had neglected them. I hadn’t trusted him enough. Instead, I’d withdrawn, had distanced myself and for what? “No, Sir.”
“Do you understand that I cannot let such behavior pass? Understand that you must be punished?”
I swallowed hard and tightened my grip. “Yes, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir.”
Edward padded across the floor to Daniel. Whispers were exchanged. Daniel’s fiddle started to sing a loud, lively tune, and he stamped his feet to the beat.
The noise was enough, I didn’t realize that Edward was back until he stroked my hair and bent to whisper in my ear. “Fifty,” he said, holding Daniel’s belt near my face so that I could smell the leather. “Because you need it.”
I forced myself not to panic. I couldn’t see, couldn’t hear Edward move, couldn’t know when the first blow would fall. Then pain bloomed across my bottom, and I thanked God for the music. Blows fell every third beat, when Daniel would stamp his feet. I submitted to Edward’s discipline, losing count, depending on him to know when to stop, soaking his blindfold with my tears. He traced my slit with his fingers, plunging two inside and praising me for how wet I was. He licked the pucker of my ass, then climbed between my legs and replaced his tongue with his erection. Slickening himself with my juices, he surged ahead, not stopping until he was fully inside me, grinding his hips against the raw skin of my buttocks before pumping into me.
“Ah. God. Fuck! Bugger me! You are so tight,” he growled, picking up his pace. “I love to fuck this arse. Feel your hot flesh squeezing me, letting me drive in all the way, no end in sight.”
Breath hissed between his teeth. He fisted the back of my hair and pulled, making my back arch beneath him as he continued to pummel me, flesh pounding flesh, his heavy balls slapping against my pussy with each driving thrust.
“Daniel,” he said. “Finish your tune and come here.”
The fiddle fell silent. I heard Daniel’s booted feet, heels clicking on the floor as he crossed the room to the daybed. “Untie her feet, please.”
My bonds were lost, my legs free to move.
“Let go of the spindles, pet, and clasp your hands behind your back,” Edward grated. Taking hold of my biceps, he pulled me up, onto my knees. “Open your mouth. Daniel has something he would like to share.”
Skin lik
e warm velvet brushed my mouth. I parted my lips. I smelled the musk of Daniel’s crotch, tasted the tang of his pre-cum. He rocked forward, feeding me more of his erection. I sucked him in, moaning around his length, drawing him deeper as Edward took me from behind. I had no control except for the suction of my mouth, the pressure of my tongue. I had surrendered everything to Edward. I trusted him to give me what I needed, and I needed this. Them. The two of them together, taking me, using me, however they wished.
As if at some silent signal, Edward turned us to lie on our sides, my back against his chest and my front exposed, displayed for Daniel’s pleasure. Hands, then lips, adored my breasts. His mouth blazed a trail south, to my clean-shaven mound. He thrust two fingers into me and tongued my clitoris, teasing it, flicking it, fastening his mouth over it with searing suction.
“Oh, God,” I keened. “Please, Sir, let me come.”
Edward bit my ear. “Not yet.”
Three fingers now. And that mouth, eating me like a starving man while Edward claimed my ass. From the rumble in my ear, I imagined that Daniel’s hand was rubbing Edward’s balls on each stroke.
“Fuck her,” Edward ordered. “She’s slick with honey. She can take you.”
Daniel grasped my ankle and lifted it onto his shoulder, spreading me, opening me wide. He knelt on the bed, tapped his cock against my button, then slid it on my seam, parting it, finding my opening and forging inside.
Yes, yes, yes.
My body sang to the rhythm that they set as they drove into me, filling me, taking me, absolute possession. Daniel pinched my nipple and twisted it, making me gasp and my pussy gush. “You may come, Elena,” Edward said. “Come for us. Let us feel your pleasure.”
Knowing fingers found my clitoris, and I exploded, bucking wildly, grinding down on their cocks. Edward gave two more thrusts before spilling himself inside me.
Daniel was not far behind. “Take it, darlin’ girl,” he grated, driving deep and sending pulsing streams of semen to flood the mouth of my womb, unworried about consequence. I was either on the eve of my menses or already with child.
