Scars and Swindlers

by Val Saintcrowe

  He grunted, hands on her waist, sliding up over her rib cage, over the walls of her breasts, kissing her back with fervor.

  She let her other hand explore, running it over his firm, muscled back, and then sliding it forward, over his rib cage, feeling him through his waistcoat and shirt. She liked the way he was put together, the heat of him, the solidness of him, and she remembered that she had not seen his bare chest, and she wanted—

  He stiffened, seizing her hand.

  Her eyes opened.

  He pulled back, breaking the kiss.

  She searched his expression questioningly.

  “Not there, love,” he breathed. “Don’t touch me there.”

  Why not?

  He rested his forehead against hers. “This… we need to stop anyway.”

  “Because you want to give me time,” she said, and she was a little out of breath.

  “Yes, and because when we’re together, it won’t be like this, not again. I’m not bracing you up against something and doing it in a frenzy.”

  “Oh,” she said, furrowing her brow, confused. “Is there something wrong with that?”

  “You deserve it slower,” he said, his voice going deeper. “I want to uncover an inch of you at a time, thoroughly kiss everything I discover before I...” He swallowed. “Never mind. Talking about that is not helping.”

  Her heart was thumping inside her chest. “I think I would like that,” she gasped.

  He gave her a rakish sort of smile, full of wicked promise.

  Her heart stopped beating altogether.

  Then he suddenly backed away from her, all at once, the air moving in his wake.

  She clutched the bookshelf for balance.

  He was already at the door. “So, we’re agreed. You’re staying here, and we’re going to have some time apart.” This was not a question.

  She had not agreed to anything, anything at all, but she was somehow incapable of speech, and he was already out of the door.

  She managed to stand up without leaning against the bookshelf and she let out a little noise of protest.

  He was gone.

  MAIRLI UTHERAIN GRIMACED at herself in the mirror in her chambers. Well, they weren’t exactly her chambers, she supposed. They were meant for Maister Wintereth’s wife, and she was staying in them only to keep up appearances. She was pretending to be Maister Wintereth’s wife.

  His wife was actually Tristanne, Mairli’s former lover—well, sometimes current lover, too—no, not current, because Mairli was done with that wench.

  Even if she wasn’t done with her, after Tristanne discovered what Mairli was doing here, exploiting intimate details of Tristanne’s past that she had confided to Mairli in confidence, Tristanne would be angry and be done with her.

  Mairli was wearing an outfit that looked exactly like something Tristanne would wear, from the trousers to the blouse and bodice to the wide-brimmed hat. Up close, no one would confuse them, but from far off, Mairli looked enough like her that those who remembered Maisses Wintereth would think it was her walking with her husband and be fooled into thinking his wife was home.

  There had been a rift between Tristanne and her husband. Hardly a surprise given that Tristanne was consumed only with revenge (or at least had been before she carried it out) and that she didn’t enjoy having men in her bed at all, only women. Tristanne had left, but her husband had pretended that she was ill and staying in a facility for her health.

  Instead, Tristanne had gone out on her own and made her fortune as a swindler and thief, gambling and stealing until she’d amassed quite a fortune and at least three houses.

  Mairli had come here to blackmail Maister Wintereth because she needed somewhere to stay. But she’d also done it because she wanted to hurt Tristanne—hurt her the way that Tristanne had hurt her. Or hurt her simply because no matter what passed between them, Mairli could not seem to stop herself from wanting the other woman, from craving her.

  That drove Mairli mad.

  A noise, from without, and then Mairli heard a servant crying out, “You can’t go in there.”

  Mairli took the wide-brimmed hat from her head, starting toward the door to her chambers. Was someone trying to get in to see her?

  “Maisses Wintereth is still frail. She is not able to see visitors!” cried the servant. This was, of course, the story that Mairli and Maister Wintereth had put out to avoid anyone calling upon Tristanne, because they couldn’t have that.

  “She’ll want to see me,” said another voice.

  Suddenly, the door burst open, and a woman was there, face to face with Marli. She looked her over, dragging her gaze from the tip of Mairli’s head to the toes on her feet. Her eyes widened in outrage.

  Flames take her. Mairli lurched forward and shut the door behind the woman. “Who are you?”

  “Who are you?” demanded the woman. “You’re not my brother’s wife.”

  “You’re Maister Wintereth’s sister?” said Mairli.

  “He brought you here?” said the woman. “To pretend to be her? For what purpose? Why would he…?” She clenched her hands into fists and turned to open the door.

  “Wait,” said Mairli. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “To find Gaheris, of course,” said the woman. “He’s going to explain himself to me.”

  Mairli took the other woman by the arm.

  The woman shook her off. “Don’t touch me.” She stalked out of the room.

  Mairli scrambled after her, willing her not to say too much more. Most of the servants were unaware of the ruse. Only the butler and the housekeeper had ever known Maisses Wintereth, and they were loyal to their positions and would not betray their master’s secrets. Other servants, however, might be willing to spread vicious rumors.

  They rounded a bend, and there was Maister Gaheris Wintereth. He was clearly surprised to see his sister. “Gail,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

  “I heard that Tristanne…” Gail gestured at Mairli. “But who is this?”

  Gaheris squared his shoulders. He gestured with his head to an open doorway. “In here.”

  Gail marched inside, clenching her jaw.

  Gaheris followed her, and Mairli came along. Gaheris shut the door. “I suppose I should have realized you would come to see her.”

  “Where is she?”

  “This is something that concerns you now?” Gaheris eyed her. “You’ve never asked many questions about the facility, about her health.”

  “You said she went mad because of her unnatural desires.” Gail’s nostrils flared. “You said she wasn’t even herself.”

  “Well, that was somewhat true, I suppose. She’s never been in a facility, though. She just left me.”

  Gail took two steps backward. “No.”

  Gaheris let out a bitter laugh. “If you think that’s out of character for her—”

  “She would have told me she was leaving you.”

  “Would she?” Gaheris raised his eyebrows.

  It was quiet. Gail looked down at the floor, shaking her head. The silence went on and on. Finally, she lifted her head and she looked at Mairli. “But you. You think to simply take her place, pretend to be her? If you wanted another woman in your bed—”

  “It’s not that way,” said Gaheris. “She came to me, and she knows Tristanne, so it was her idea to impersonate her. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement, that’s all you need to know. You will keep quiet about it, because a stain on my reputation will touch you as well, and will touch your children and husband and entire household.”

  Gail turned to Mairli. “You know her,” she said in a quiet voice. “How do you know her? How do you know her so well that you can walk the way she walks?”

  “Gail,” sighed Gaheris. “Certainly you don’t—”

  “I thought I broke her,” said Gail. “But she was never broken, and you left me to wallow in my guilt for all these years. And now, I find she’s been off with… with…” She sniffed, he
r face twisting, and she fixed Mairli with a look of pure hatred. “What is she to you?”

  Gaheris sneered. “You’re a married woman, Gail, married to a man. And Tristanne is my wife. So, I’ll thank you to leave this alone, if you don’t mind. You were never interested before, and there’s no reason to be interested now. Tristanne is gone, and she’s never coming back.”

  CADON SAT ON a chair with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. It was cold in his room, and he couldn’t have a fire, so he spent most of his time in blankets. “You could go, of course,” he said. “I shouldn’t take up all your time.”

  “Well, then you’ll be alone,” said Pairce, who was seated nearby, also wrapped in a blanket. “You have nothing to do to amuse yourself down here, and I don’t want to leave you alone to boredom. That would be wretched for you, I’m sure.”

  “Better boredom than that awful rage,” he said. “I’m fine, I assure you.”

  “Do you want me to go?”

  “Oh, no, of course not!” He shook his head in the darkness, not that she could see him. “No, I assure you, I am always happy of your presence.”

  “All right, then,” she said. “I’ll stay.”

  “All right.”

  And then it was quiet.

  A few moments passed, and then more, and now the silence began to seem a bit awkward, difficult to break, and Cadon thought to himself that this was why he had never bedded a willing woman, because he was incapable of making witty small talk. He could not be diverting or entertaining. Soon, Pairce was not going to come back because she would be bored.

  The thought of losing her was a painful squeeze around his inner organs.

  Oh, I already like her that much, then? Even after not bedding her, even after we determined we wouldn’t do that.

  It wasn’t true, though. He’d had her. He couldn’t help but feel as if she’d brought him back to life when he’d come to himself, surfacing as if from a well of dark, smothering raging waters after being insensible for so long. He’d become conscience and the first thing he’d felt was her body surrounding him—snug, warm, slippery, glorious.

  He remembered what it felt like to be inside her. He remembered her breasts in his hands, soft and springy, her nipples hardening against his touch. He remembered the noises she’d made.

  And he should stop remembering these things, because it was making him aroused now. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

  “Have I told you that Haid left this morning to go north and try to discover what he could about the curse put on you?” Pairce said suddenly, her voice thin and a bit too high.

  “You have,” he said gently. “Twice at least.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Well, I don’t know how long it will take him, of course, but I hope he will be back soon, and that we can… see each other… Or maybe we could take you somewhere to be in the moonlight? I don’t know how I’d manage—”

  “I’m all right,” he said. “Don’t go to special trouble because of me.”

  “Sorry I keep repeating myself,” said Pairce in an unsteady voice. “I am out of sorts around you, I suppose.”

  “What?” he said. “Why would you be that way?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I don’t even know what you are to me. I suppose we’re friends?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Friends who kiss,” she said. “We do seem to kiss every time we see each other.”

  “We haven’t kissed today,” he said. “We’ve only been sitting here and talking.” Well, talking in short bursts punctuated by long periods of silence, anyway.

  “True,” she said. “I suppose it’s better that way. If we don’t kiss.”

  “Definitely,” he said.

  Another long silence.

  “Oh, I remember something I’m curious about,” she said. “You don’t have a beard.”

  “No,” he said. “I can’t really grow one. Never have been able to. I’m not especially… hairy.” He touched his face, self-conscious.

  “I suppose that explains it, then,” she said. “I couldn’t figure out how you were shaving in the dark.”

  He chuckled. “No, that would be difficult.”

  It was quiet again.

  “Do you—do you want to kiss me?” she said.

  He let out a disbelieving noise. Had she simply come out with that? How did she have the bravery to say something so bold?

  “It’s only that I keep thinking about kissing you, so I thought maybe… but if you don’t want to—”

  “I didn’t say that.” Why was his voice like that? Why had it lost so much strength?

  “Then, you would like to?”

  “There is nothing I could find to complain about when it comes to kissing you, Pairce,” he rasped.

  She was suddenly next to him in the darkness, settling on his lap, burrowing into his blankets.

  Their mouths found each other, and hers was soft and warm and wet, and he tucked her against him, her small body fitting nicely against his chest, and he lost himself to kissing her.

  He couldn’t say how long they kissed. It felt as if it went on for several eternities. It was the same movement over and over again, their mouths moving in the same rhythm, but it wasn’t the least bit boring. He thought it might easily occupy him forever, that he would never tire of kissing her.

  It felt good. She felt good.

  If it weren’t for the fact that it seemed to wake up his cock, he would have thought it the perfect activity, but he was hard now and getting harder, and now he was throbbing inside his trousers.

  When he could bear it no longer, he had to reach down to rearrange himself, because the seam of the fabric was digging into him in a very sensitive place, and he needed to move himself.

  Of course she noticed. “Are you all right?” She put a hand on his arm, just above his elbow.

  “Fine, just fine,” he said, and went back to kissing her.

  “Are you…?” Her hand was suddenly between his thighs, cupping him.

  “What are you doing?” he said in a strangled voice, pulling his mouth from hers.

  “Oh, you’re very hard,” she said in a breathy, affected voice.

  He should move her hand. He didn’t. He only grunted his assent and enjoyed the heat and pressure of her holding him.

  “Are you uncomfortable?” she said. “We could… um, we could take you out if that would be… better.” Her voice had gotten throaty.

  He groaned. “We’re not… we agreed that we wouldn’t…”

  “Well, I could give you some relief without it meaning we, um, are together in that way,” she said softly, a hint of teasing suggestion in her voice.

  “That’s…” Tell her no. He groaned again.

  Her hand moved against him, through his trousers. “I wouldn’t mind. I want to touch it. I want to stroke it.”

  Blazes.

  He wasn’t going to be able to stop her. He lacked the strength to do it, and… if she was trying to manipulate him, he was going to prove incredibly easy to—

  “What about you?” His voice came out scoured.

  “Me?” Her hand stilled against him.

  He put a hand on her ankle, and then slid it up under her skirts, over her shin, up to her knee. When he touched the inside of her thigh, she let out a noisy huff of air. “Are you uncomfortable too?”

  “I…” She wriggled her hips a little. “You don’t have to—” She cut off with a little yip because he’d found her between her thighs.

  He cupped her now, and she was wet, her heat slipping out between the folds of her onto the palm of his hand. His cock throbbed.

  She pushed herself against his palm, working at the laces of his trousers, putting her mouth on his. “Good,” she said in a guttural voice.

  “Very good,” he agreed, pressing the heel of his hand against her, moving it in a circle against her as more and more of her slick heat eased his movement there.

  She worked her hips against him, freeing his cock from
his trousers and wrapping her hands tightly around him.

  He gasped.

  She stroked—tight, even, unhurried, long strokes from the root to the tip of him.

  He was undone. He panted, his breath noisy. He rested his forehead against her shoulder, and he hardly had the presence of mind to see to her between her thighs. He was transported by his own pleasure, lost to it.

  She added a little twist at the end, tightening around the head of him.

  He threw his head back, uttering a hoarse cry.

  She was amused. “You like that?”

  He swallowed. “This isn’t… fair,” he managed.

  “Mmm?”

  “You obviously have… skills… experience that I…” He seized her wrist. “Stop that for a moment.”

  She paused her movement, but she didn’t let go of him, and he pulsed against her. Every time he pulsed she gave him an answering squeeze.

  His voice was loose, but he tried to speak in an even, somewhat rational voice. “Everyone knows it takes women a while to find a… release. Longer than it takes men.”

  “I suppose so, yes.”

  “And everyone knows men become worthless and sleepy afterwards,” he said.

  “Also true,” she said softly.

  “So, s-stop that and let me take care of you first,” he said.

  She didn’t say anything.

  “Pairce?” he whispered.

  She kissed him. “You are… what sort of man are you?”

  He let out a strangled laugh, rubbing his hand against her again. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Men don’t care about women’s pleasure.”

  “Sure they do,” he said. He dragged his hand upwards, his middle finger going between her folds, questing about. He didn’t want to ask for her help, but he would if he had to. He seemed to remember finding her easily enough when he’d been inside her, but that tended to simplify things, tugging certain aspects back, making it more prominent, and—

  Ah.

  There.

  She whimpered.

  The trick was to be gentle. He likely hadn’t been gentle before with her, but she hadn’t complained, and he was fairly certain she’d climaxed, but…