by J. J. Lore
“But a few elves sample the forbidden fruit. Take the queen’s own cousin, for instance. Oren dallies with a new lass every spring and parts from her when the leaves begin to fall. None say a word against him. And I believe Axl and Terel were smitten with human women in their youth.”
Considering this, Garrin found his objections shriveling even as a vision of the young human woman intruded in his thoughts. Assignations did sometimes occur between elf and human, after all. It would be a risk, but what was life without the spice of danger? “We would glamour her when our time ended, would we not?”
“Of course we would veil her memory. It’s the right thing to do. How else could she take up with a mere human male after experiencing ecstasy with us?” Lear grinned broadly, evidently pleased they might engage in a seduction of the sad young woman. Bring a little lightness and pleasure to her life.
“All right, then. We’ll visit tonight and see what new gifts we can bestow. Perhaps ask a few questions at the tavern and discover her circumstances.” His acquiescence resulted in Lear throwing his arms around him. One of his mate’s hands strayed lower and circled around his prong for some gentle strokes. Garrin wondered for an instant if the idea of bedding the human had stoked his mate’s ardor, but the exquisite sensation Lear provoked when he lowered his mouth to the crown of Garrin’s prong soon sent all such speculation flying away.
****
Hanna waited at the top of the stair, uncertainty holding her back. She’d gone to sleep the night before, resolutely refusing to think about how the wonderful shoes had arrived at her bench. There was no reason to think such a miracle would be repeated. Still, a small, hopeful part of her heart wanted it and she was desperate to quiet it. The disappointment of seeing nothing waiting for her this morning would be a hard blow, but one she would weather. She’d delayed going down by first dressing and making her bed but could put it off no longer.
Chiding herself for childish desires, she scuffed down the stairs, doing her best not to look in the direction of the work surface. This morning, Phoebus did not attempt to trip her as she descended. She kept her gaze on her toes until her feet were firmly planted on the smooth shop floor. Then she slowly raised her eyes. First she saw the black-and-white cat preening as he stood on the table top, his tail raised as he blinked his yellow eyes at her. Nearly obscured by his fluffy fur was something behind him. Something dark purple, the color of ripe, plump grapes. Phoebus stretched and paced to one side to reveal a pair of boots, the burnished leather gleaming with an almost pearlescent shimmer. Tall shafts laced with grey strings tapered down to pointed toes accented with embossed silver caps.
Sucking in a shocked breath, she reached out and ran a fingertip down the laces, each bump sending little shock waves up her arm and making her heart race. As she pulled one closer, she noticed the heel was impossibly high and also accented with silver. These materials hadn’t come from her shop. Where…who could have done such fine work in one night? And why? The leather was as soft as her own skin and as she stroked it, a mad urge to put them on filled her. Without even bothering to greet Phoebus, she rushed back upstairs.
****
Lear adjusted his position on the low roof, careful not to lose hold on the veil he’d constructed to conceal both he and Garrin from prying eyes this fine morning. They were perched opposite and above the sweet cobbler’s shop, at a vantage that allowed them to look in the top of her shop window and not be jostled by passersby below. She shuttered the bottom at night, but luckily for them the top was unobscured.
It had seemed to take hours for her to finally come down from her slumber, but her reaction to the boots was worth the uncomfortable seat. Her face glowed with pleasure as she regarded the gift. Garrin bumped his elbow into Lear’s side a few times and he tore his gaze away from the woman caressing her new footwear to spare his mate a glance.
“She’s very pretty, isn’t she?”
Lear nodded agreement, then looked back at the window to see she’d disappeared, the boots left on the table. “Where did she…”
Almost immediately, she returned and seated herself on the lower step. She reached up under her skirt and Lear stiffened, very glad the lower shutter was obscuring this sight from anyone walking by the shop. With a few quick movements, she stripped off a pair of thick socks to reveal pale, shapely legs up to the middle of her thighs. He wished she’d pull the skirt up further so he could catch a glimpse of the curls shielding her sex. She unfurled a long, filmy line of material that she swiftly gathered up in her hands before sliding the tips of her toes in. As she extended her leg in a graceful line, the material ran up her skin and tightened against her flesh, revealing a lacy pattern. Garrin gripped Lear’s knee and leaned forward.
“Do you see—”
“Of course I do.” Lear stared at her legs as she encased them in the delicate material, first one, then the other. When she smoothed her hands up from her ankles to just above her knees, his prong throbbed as his breath caught in his throat. “I fear I want her rather badly now.”
“As do I. How should we arrange a meeting? The owner of the tavern next to her shop says she never visits, so we can’t contrive…” Garrin’s voice quieted as she unlaced the boot and drew it up over her foot, easing the shaft around to cradle a shapely calf. After lacing it tight, she extended her foot, twisting her new footwear this way and that as she admired it. Lear found himself mesmerized by the motion and was sure if he were closer he could hear the leather squeak.
“Next time we make them longer, so they go above her knees,” Garrin breathed.
“A commendable idea. Perhaps in black.”
“With more silver. I can just imagine how it would feel to have her legs draped over my shoulders and the heels of those boots digging into my back as I suckled her—”
“Stop such speculation, else I’ll fall from this roof.” Lear had grown dizzy with the image provoked by his mate’s words. By now she’d gotten the other boot on and was standing, turning fast enough that her skirt lifted higher and higher, almost high enough—
A large dark shape blocked his view and he slid from his fantasy to the reality of a portly man raising himself on tiptoes to peek inside her window. Though he and his mate were guilty of the same crime, Lear couldn’t stop himself from bristling at the fellow’s temerity.
“A suitor?”
“Surely not.” Lear surveyed the human with ill humor. He was wearing a dull olive-colored embroidered doublet and his hose were sagging around his thick ankles. The man raised one fat fist and rapped at the door. Lear watched the young woman inside start and reflexively smooth down her skirt. Such modesty.
Her expression as she caught sight of her visitor chilled his desire. She didn’t like this man, if he was any judge of her downcast mouth and tense shoulders. He pricked his ears to pick up their conversation, which consisted mainly of the man demanding payment and her demurral to pay only once it was actually due. The lout also used her name, and Lear savored the sound of it; Hanna Bregot. Garrin leaned out toward the edge of the roof as if prepared to leap down and drive the human away. Lear laid a restraining hand upon his arm.
“She handles herself with confidence, no need for us to intervene.” Not that he could think of a way to descend from the roof and suddenly appear on the walk. That performance would certainly provoke unwelcome attention.
The blustering man made some sort of comment too faint for even Lear’s acute hearing to pick up and Hanna straightened, a frown distorting her sweet mouth. With an imperious sniff, she slammed the door in the man’s face, the sound of the lock engaging clear in the early morning air. A few people turned toward the sound and the human male glanced at them, then straightened his shoulders before striding away.
“I would go to her now, but I fear she won’t answer the door. Not after that,” Garrin mused, and Lear nodded.
“We will make her something tonight and perhaps leave a note suggesting a meeting place. Would she come, do you think?” L
ear wasn’t sure what Hanna would do. She obviously appreciated their gifts, but would that be incentive enough to venture out for a rendezvous with a stranger—or two?
Chapter Two
The half-timbered buildings of Arlentown seemed to crowd over her head as she walked home from the market. Hanna wished she was out in the woods, following her favorite path. She’d always preferred the fields and forests outside the quarried stone walls of the town and had spent many a happy girlhood day exploring streams and climbing trees. Those days were long gone and the pressure of her responsibilities made the growing shadows of evening even more menacing. At least, thanks to her new golden slippers, she wasn’t in danger of getting her feet wet. Her arm ached as she toted her basket containing the few items she’d been able to purchase: bread, cheese, a single sausage, and three wizened apples along with heavy lengths of leather and a bag of nails.
A loud feminine voice hailed her and Hanna jolted to a halt. It was Madame Constant. Of course. She waited as the town busybody, accompanied by another well-fed, well-clothed woman, approached, a look of concern pasted on her face, albeit with little conviction.
“Little Hanna, so good to see you out and about. I was just remarking to Madame Tochond here that you are practically incarcerated in that shop of your father’s. Tucked away, working, working. It must be so difficult keeping up with all the orders.”
Hanna bit back her reply that orders for shoes or boots were scant and there were only a few pending, which was worrisome for her declining purse. Luckily for her, the other woman didn’t really pause, her companion smiling in a satisfied way.
“I simply must stop by and place an order or two, if only out of a sense of obligation to your father. Wonderful man, so talented and suited for business. Your situation would improve if you would marry and simply have your husband take over management of the place. It’s almost unseemly for a girl to be placed in such a precarious position.”
Her father was wonderful and talented. She knew she would never produce work to compare to his. However, getting married was not an option. Since her father had sickened and required more and more of her assistance, any beaus who’d once courted her were but a distant memory. Taking on a struggling business and an ill father-in-law had been a greater deterrent than her admittedly limited charms could overcome. “Be sure to stop by, Madame Constant, Madame Tochond. If you’ll excuse me.”
As she turned to go, the other woman let out a whistling huff that brought Hanna up short.
“What are those?” she squealed, pointing down at the cobblestones. Hanna immediately scanned for a scurrying rat or mouse, but there was nothing other than the pavers and her own feet in the vicinity. “Those shoes! I simply cannot believe what I’m seeing.”
At Tochond’s urging, Hanna lifted her skirt hem slightly, the better to display the lovely slippers. The golden leather gleamed in the waning light, almost as if it was lit from within. Both women drew in audible breaths as they examined them.
“Extraordinary,” Madame Constant breathed. “These are your work, Hanna? How did you…no, please don’t explain, merely promise you’ll make me an identical pair.”
“Better yet, let me buy the ones you’re wearing. We look a similar size.” The other woman leaned down, her hands extended claw-like toward Hanna’s feet.
An atavistic urge to flee filled Hanna and she backed up a step, swinging the basket in front of her body in an attempt to shield herself. “No, these aren’t for sale. But I’m happy to make a similar pair for you. Stop by the shop so I can take your measurements.”
“I’ll pay you twelve, no, make that twenty ducats for those,” Madame Tochond said in a rush.
The thought of that many coins in hand almost made Hanna waver, but just one glance down at the beauty on her feet had her shaking her head. “No, madame, I must decline. These are very special to me.”
“And no wonder, I’ve never seen their like.” Constant cocked her head and considered Hanna. “If this is what you’re working on in that little shop every day, you’ll soon have a line of customers out the door.”
Embarrassed at the misunderstanding, Hanna ducked her head and made her goodbyes. She couldn’t very well tell the women her shoes had simply appeared, or that she’d found luscious purple boots this morning by the same mysterious means. They’d declare her addled and would send the constable to confine her to an asylum. She had no explanation for the surprises she’d received and was having a difficult time reining in her sneaking desire for something new on the morrow. Curiosity seeped through her like dye coloring suede. Perhaps she could surreptitiously observe the workshop tonight and discover what kind soul was giving her such fine gifts. Whoever it was deserved her face-to-face thanks.
****
Garrin’s fingers flew as he stitched the tongue of the boot to the upper of the black boots, the soft leather draping over his knuckles in a distracting way. Lear worked on the other boot, humming an old lullaby, their movements and progress nearly synchronized as they constructed a special treat for Hanna. It was midnight and she’d gone to bed hours before. The thought of her in the room overhead, her body relaxed in sleep, also proved distracting and he tightened his lips to bring himself back to the work at hand and not contemplate her slim legs or lustrous hair.
Crafting footwear was an easy enough task, something elf children learned at a young age, along with making clothes, weapons, and any manner of sundries required for survival. A youngster’s work was evaluated and those that had a gift for a specific skill went on to receive intense training from a master to eventually find their place in society as a revered artisan. Neither he nor Lear had taken to one of the handcraft trades, but the old skills had returned to them easily. They were only constructing basic items in any case, primitive and crude compared to the elegant gear a master elf cobbler could create.
“Almost done,” Lear whispered, keeping his voice low even though they’d cast a silence spell around them so as to not disturb Hanna with the pounding of the hammer as they’d attached the welt to the sole. His mate held up the long length of black leather culminating in a cleverly pierced high heel, sized to allow a finger to insert and assist with pulling on or taking off. “What color for laces, do you think?”
They’d brought their own materials of course, not wanting to deplete the human woman’s meager stores, and Garrin set his work aside to rummage through their pack. “I think chain would be very attractive, but the only one we have is copper and that color would clash.”
Lear made a contemplative sound as he looked over the boot. “Silk then, a thicker width so it makes a substantial bow at the top.”
Garrin pulled a length from the pack and unfurled the smooth midnight-blue fabric. It was finely woven and faint threads of metallic grey shot through the material, lending it the appearance of a starlit night. Lear nodded agreement and Garrin smiled as he measured with his fingertips. It would take more time to secure her boots, but the effect would be lovely.
A gasping noise interrupted his thoughts and he and Lear turned toward the sound, alert to any threat. Rather than facing an intruding thief, instead they confronted a blinking Hanna crouched on the stairs. She was clad in a thin chemise, her bare feet and ankles peeping out from under the frayed hem as she tottered on an upper step, her thin hand grasping the rail. Her pink lips parted wordlessly as she glanced between the two of them. For a long moment, Garrin found himself wondering what she saw. Neither he nor his mate had bothered to assume a human veil, so she was now seeing elven men for what had to be the first time in her life. He knew he was ruggedly built by his race’s standards, where Lear aligned more closely to the slim, lithe ideal. They both had brown hair grown long and pulled back in a hank. His was thick and dark while Lear’s was more auburn and smooth. Of course, their pointed ears and sharper features were likely the first things she’d notice, alerting her to the presence of magical beings in her shop.
“You’re…you’re…” Hanna’s soft voice
trembled and before he realized what he was about, Garrin found himself rising, ready to assist. Her blue eyes widened as she took him in and her eyelids fluttered. Like a felled sapling she slumped, crumpling on the stairs in a swoon. She would have tumbled down the last remaining few if he hadn’t gathered her up in his arms. Her warm weight was a welcome burden and he allowed himself the pleasure of looking over her body, taking in the swells of her breasts pressing against the thin fabric of her gown, the curved collarbone and hollow at the base of her throat revealed by the garment’s disarray. Her dark brown lashes fluttered against her pale skin as she roused and he couldn’t help but draw in a deep breath to capture her sweet, musky scent while he could.
Lear crouched at her side, running his fingers along the soft skin of her wrist, his gaze never leaving her face.
“Should we return her to bed, do you think?” Garrin tried to keep his voice low so as to not startle her, but she flinched and blinked her eyes instead. Her gaze flew to his, her deep blue eyes wide with confusion as she pressed her hands to his chest as if to push away. He tightened his grip instinctively, something about their physical closeness pulling him to her in an immediate and primal way. Her muscles stiffened in response and at that slight friction against his body, his prong thrummed to life, affirming that indeed he wished to have this woman.
“What are you? Why are you in my shop?” Her voice quavered and her eyes brightened with imminent tears. “Please don’t hurt me.”
Garrin took in an aghast breath. She was frightened of them? To be fair, they were trespassing, but they were attempting to do a good deed and had certainly never contemplated sneaking up to observe her as she slept. Or at least he hadn’t until the thought occurred.
“We won’t hurt you.” Lear’s voice went quiet and soothing, but the woman shook her head in denial. Her limbs quivered as if she longed to escape.
