Milady’s Wiles             by: Brandy Dewinter, with the invaluable assistance of P.J. Wright

 

Chapter 13 - More Than Sleeping Together

I truly had inspection duties to accomplish as part of this trip so I spent much of each of the next several days out and about the lands of North Vale. I had become accustomed to the discomfort of riding in the maiden’s lover, even sidesaddle, and actually enjoyed the crisp autumn air in the higher elevations of this barony.

The logging operations that had once occupied an inordinate amount of a Council meeting were proceeding at good pace. This would actually re-sult in less flooding of Clifton, the neighboring barony. The roads into the virgin forest that had been cut to support logging operations allowed the woodsmen access to already fallen trees in place of live trees from the periphery of the forest. Clearing these from the deeper woods would have less impact on runoff than in prior winters.

On the other hand, Julia’s task was not proceeding well. Strane remained attentive, impossibly polite, and unbelievably unaware of Julia’s flirtations. I teased, she defended, Strane ignored. Julia began to complain of bruises on her tongue from all the times she had bitten it rather than launch a vitriolic attack on ‘His Denseness’ as she had taken to calling him.

"I have done everything but rub my bosom against his arm as you did with Lyonidas," she claimed one night as we readied for bed.

"That was an accident!"

"Right, and Strane is seething with passion," she snorted.

"He’s probably afraid of what would happen, after the episode with Olrin," I offered.

"No. One thing I’ll say for Strane, I don’t think he’s afraid of anything. I’m not sure why, but I think he’d walk into the fires of hell if his duty required it."

That triggered an idea in me, "Maybe that’s how you can get him."

Her eyes held no sign of understanding so I continued, "Make it part of his duty to kiss you. Then he’ll have no choice."

"I am not that desperate for men that I can only get a kiss through appealing to his duty!"

I let a single arched eyebrow answer her comment.

I swear, the ends of her fiery hair began to lift like living flames as she prepared to vent all of her pent-up fury at me for my implication. Yet even as her eyes began to spark, her shoulders slumped.

"Perhaps you’re right," she sighed.

I took her in my arms to comfort her, finding my lips near her ear as my cheek cradled hers.

"No, my beautiful Lady, you are not desperate for men. But you may need to appear so as part of your duty."

Her own voice was barely a whisper in my own ear, "Am I really your Lady?"

"Now, and forever," I promised. In my heart that promise was more than liege to vassal. I couldn’t tell her that, though.

We held each other for a long, wonderful moment, though the moment went nowhere but into oblivion. Then we moved to the bed and slipped quietly under the covers, huddled together now as was our custom.

In the dark, her quiet voice had no trouble reaching my so-close ear, "Do you really think I’m beautiful?"

Goodness, her troubles with Strane really were undermining her self-esteem. At least this question was easy to answer.

"Milady Julia, you are the most beautiful of all God’s creations, and you are very pretty as well."

I could almost hear her smile in the darkness as she snuggled closer for delicious warmth, all the more precious because it was unnecessary.

The next day dawned crisply clear with a special tang in the air that promised it would be one of few left in the year. We were up and about early, completing as best we could the inspection Mother had ordered. The newly-created Baron of North Vale actually had things well in hand, which I had known from the first day we arrived, but it was good to let him show off his competence so that I could duly report it back to the Queen. We recognized that the visit would soon have to end if we were go get back to Stalwart Guard before the roads became impassable, yet we had not succeeded in our secondary mission.

That night I retired early to my studies. I had brought along suf-ficient new information that I had no lack of interesting concepts to pur-sue. And I had brought my flute as well. Consumed in my private exer-cises, I lost track of time. When next I thought of the hour it was actually quite late, though Julia had not returned. I summoned Minah for myself and had just gotten into bed when Julia arrived. She respected my repose by saying nothing, merely removing her own clothes and donning her nightgown unaided. She slipped in continued silence into her side of the bed but instead of huddling close to me she lay with her back to me, as far to her side of the bed as possible.

I wondered if I had done something unconsciously wrong in going to bed so early. As I was trying to find some way to word an apology to an error I was not even sure I had made, I realized that Julia was shaking with silent sobs that were growing in intensity.

Rolling close to her, I snuggled into her back and wished once again that my steel prison was not in the way. My false bosom held me back from truly molding myself to her, the stiff cups threatening to jab her pain-fully rather than provide healing warmth.

"Do you want to talk?" I asked gently.

In response, she rolled toward me and drew her arms in like a small child. I wrapped my own arms around her and cradled her soft tresses on my own shoulder to make a pillow for her. As though a dam had broken, her tears burst forth accompanied by gasping sobs that threatened her with the lack of air her own corset allowed.

"Tell me what happened," I ordered. Well, more of a suggestion though with enough force to make it clear that her words would not be selfish complaint but response to my opening.

"I . . . kissed . . . him," she gulped out between heaving attempts to breathe.

"That was what you came here for," I gently reminded her.

"But it was awful," she cried. "We were watching the stars and I said that a maiden’s fondest dream was to be kissed by a strong man under a starlit sky. He just nodded. Then I said, ‘I am a maiden who has never had that dream fulfilled.’ He just nodded again."

She stopped at this point, too embarrassed to continue, but I urged her on with a slight nudge.

"Then I turned to him and put my arms around his neck and kissed him. Like a barroom strumpet. Like I had no pride at all. Like I was so desperate for men that I had to fling myself at anyone who would put up with me!"

Her gulping breaths became even more painful, "Then . . . when I moved back . . . I saw the most . . . satisfied . . . smirk . . . on his face."

Her anger began to overcome her shame, "He agreed with me! I could see it in his eyes. He thought I was a cheap floozy, too overcome with my own needs for any dignity at all!"

"That smug, self-satisfied, slug! I’ll kill him for making me beg for a kiss!"

Her voice had risen but I let my own quiet tones remind her of the need for discretion even as I replied, "That’s the idea."

It brought her up short in her tirade. If we were contemplating murder, then acting a bit undignified was surely no greater crime. Or greater demand from duty.

It defused her anger but in its place, shame returned. She buried her face in my own long hair and shook once more with silent sobs. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what I should do but suddenly I found myself doing something that I knew I shouldn’t do.

I took her chin in my hand and lifted her face from my shoulder. Lowering my lips to hers I caressed them with gentle warmth, trying to replace the memory of her shame with one of true . . . what?

The pressure of her lips increased as she lifted her head to meet my lowered one. Her arms clutched at me with strength fueled by a des-perate need for reconfirmation of her femininity, of her desirability, of her ability to feel passion from an act that had so recently filled her with disgust.

I was only too glad to supply such reassurances as I could. Julia herself had taught me some of the duet that lips and tongues and beating hearts could play. I explored with her a new composition on that theme, point and counter point, melody and descant, building to a climax that created an almost-pleasurable pain in my so-terribly-confined intimate reactions.

Though the room was already dark I felt a greater darkness flooding in behind the pounding in my ears and the unsteady rhythm of my frantic heart. I felt the strength leave my own embrace as the world receded far away, connected by only the single thread of her lips.

Then even that faded away.

My next sensation was of a none-too-gentle nudge accompanied by a silvery giggle.

"Do you always fall asleep in the middle of a kiss?" Julia teased. Her good humor hid the fact that her own breath had become short enough to demand most . . . interesting . . breathing exercises. Exercises I could see only too well from my position.

I had been rolled over onto my back and now Julia leaned over me, her bosom literally heaving with demand for air. It was as difficult as anything I could remember doing to look up from that so-graceful set of curves to meet Julia’s eyes glowing softly in the dim light of our night candle.

"I . . . would hardly . . . call it . . . sleep," I gasped.

"Perhaps your corset is just too tight," she offered in explanation. An explanation accompanied by a wandering hand that traced the gentle curve of my so-tightly-confined waist.

I felt my body move into her hand as though controlled by an outside force. My heart started another upward spiral and my gasps became too forceful for words.

She took pity on my predicament and lowered her lips for another kiss before I died another small death. Her lips were softer than ever, swollen now with more fullness than I had felt before. Yet as I once again began to sense the greater darkness swallow me she lifted her head and smiled at me.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"Milady Wonderful, it is I who should thank you," I managed to get out.

"No, though I am gratified that you found my kisses sweet," she grinned. "But you have shown me in ways that cannot be falsified that you do indeed find me attractive."

"I think that is a valid conclusion from our little . . . experi-ment," I smiled.

"We’ll have to tell the Queen to give you a bit less constraining corset, though," she said.

"If only we could," I sighed. "But this has become my acknowledged shape, now. All her gowns fit this form, not anything more relaxed. It seemed like the only option at the time."

Julia snuggled down into the cradle of my arm again, snickering quietly as she moved a portion of my hair that was soaked from her prior tears.

"I guess I’ll just have to help you get used to it," she whispered.

I wanted to ask her just what sort of help she had in mind, but the moment was too magic for further words so I just tightened my arms about her and held her until her regular breathing showed she had fallen asleep.

My own sleep was not so quick in coming. Who was I? What was I? What was right for me? Why could both Lyonidas and Julia arouse such passion in me that I would swoon within my too-tight corset? Why did only Julia elicit a response from a more intimate area as well? How much of me was me? And how much was Mother? The fruitless spiral of my thoughts eventually claimed my consciousness but my dreams provided no clearer answers.

True to expectations, Strane dispatched a message rider the next day. He courteously offered to convey any messages we might have as well so I included facts and figures from my inspections as though the data were too critical to wait until we traveled ourselves. If our true purpose had been no more than our claimed purpose, to inspect North Vale, we would have set out ourselves.

But our true purposes were many and complex. We had been away from Lyonidas for a time to keep that relationship from going too far, too fast. In it’s place Julia and I shared a togetherness that was much more than sisters could understand. I tried to keep it out of my thoughts, to keep it out of my eyes, to keep it from being proclaimed by my face, but every time I looked at her fiery hair and sparkling eyes a blush would mount my cheeks. I could feel it as though I carried a looking glass around with me.

Unfortunately, or fortunately, as God is my witness I couldn’t tell which, a cold rain started that afternoon. The crisp chill brought color to a lot of faces, giving the lie of apparent excitement to weather that was drearily heavy.

I busied myself with my studies for the day and Julia had brought a most intricate embroidery with her. We spent the day in our room, carefully not looking at each other. Or so we pretended. But it seemed only moments would go by and I would lift my eyes to find her own rising to meet my glance. It always brought a flare of heat to my cheeks and a smug satisfaction to hers.

One time when I looked up though, I saw her staring out the window at the heavy grey skies instead of doing her work.

"What are you thinking about?" I asked.

"What we have to do to Strane," she answered.

"Do you think it is wrong?"

"No, it is our duty. We cannot meet them on the field of battle, and they have stolen all our men from us. I will kill that cold man with-out regret. Actually, I was just trying to decide how we might do it."

Julia, my strong, practical, lady, I thought. I wished I had her fierce intensity, even if it made her seem harsh to others. I knew that in her so-feminine breast beat a heart full of love and passionate energy, but in her case she could balance it with a strength of character I could only envy.

"Tell me of your thoughts," I requested.

At that, she turned to look at me. There was a hint of . . . what? .

. . guilt, or sorrow, or something in her eyes.

"There is a way, but I cannot do it alone. In fact, you would have to strike the killing blow yourself."

I just nodded. Whatever the demands of duty, I had no choice but to try and do my part.

She looked out the window as she began to speak as though avoiding eye contact, or perhaps a mental connection with the distance out the portal would provide an emotional distance from a cold-blooded plan for murder.

"The balcony where we have been walking in the evenings is reached through a dark stairway. There is a guard niche near the top, though how an enemy could gain access to the balcony is not clear. Nonetheless, the niche is there. If you were to hide in the niche, wearing a dark dress and covering your hair, you could get behind Strane as we reached the opening to the balcony. I could pause at the doorway. At this time his back would be unprotected."

An elegant plan, simple, direct, and utterly unscrupulous. If I felt restricted by the honor men require of themselves, I would have refused. But for women who need to overcome their physical weakness by mental toughness and guile it was perfect. I nodded once again.

With out decision made it remained only to work out the implementing details. I sent Julia in search of an appropriate bludgeon, blunt so as to support our excuse that Strane had fallen down the stairs. A sword cut would hardly be appropriate. For myself, I went to my wardrobe to find a suitable outfit. Among the many gowns that Mother had sent I found a dark grey ensemble that seemed too useful for coincidence. The outfit was really a knitted top with a separate skirt. The top was long-sleeved and unadorned, though there was an overvest with bright embroi-dery. And best of all there were leggings as I had once worn that could be concealed by the removable skirt until the time came for quiet move-ment, perhaps in tight quarters. There was a matching snood that would contain my hair, though in accordance with Lyonidas’ edict I would not be able to wear that until the moment for stealth arrived.

When fully dressed all appeared normal. Before we went down to supper Julia and I strolled in apparent leisure to her favorite balcony. There, in the guard niche we placed the bludgeon and the snood. The cold rain was blowing through the opening, though not badly. It was enough to leave a sheen of dampness on the steps near the doorway, but not enough to make an excursion obvious folly.

At supper it was difficult for me to act naturally. I was too intro-spective, thinking of our plot, thinking of murder.

"Highness, you seem ill at ease this evening. Is anything the matter?" Baron Spencer inquired politely.

I dredged up a grin and answered, "Well for one, you are still cal-ling me Highness." Then before he could return to his question, I pro-vided a reasonable answer, "It is the weather. I do not like cold rain. I think I will probably retire early this evening."

"Not me," Julia chirped brightly. "I like a stormy night. I like to feel the energy in the air and smell the fresh cleanness when everything is washed new."

"Strane, will you escort me up onto our balcony again?" she asked. In her eyes was an invitation that offered more than a simple walk. The smug smile on his face would have confirmed me in my purpose if I had wavered. The though that this cold, unfeeling man thought himself good enough for my Julia awakened emotions within me that were as powerful as they were confusing.

I excused myself to cover my distress at the thought of his lips on my beautiful redhead’s lips, his arms around her slim waist, his . . .

It took self control that I knew came from Mother’s impressed per-sonality for me to walk from the dining chamber with patient grace. Once clear of the room I walked quickly through the small castle to our appoin-ted rendezvous. My skirt was removed in a few seconds, the billowing petticoats in only a few more. The inside of the skirt was dark enough to conceal the pile of material, though I feared the delicate fabrics of the undergarments would not survive the night. My brightly embroidered vest joined the pile, itself inverted into equivalent darkness. The snood covered my golden halo, such an inappropriate image for murder anyway, and I took the thick club in my hands to wait.

Perhaps if I hadn’t had to wait, I would have been less tempted to think. Thinking is a dangerous pastime when you wait to murder someone. My legs were free of skirts in public for the first time since the day I had become Cherysse. I missed my beautiful skirts, my femininity. I missed the graceful sweep of them and the illusion of protection the wide buffer of petticoats provided. If anyone saw me now, my secret would be exposed, my death would follow immediately. As would Julia’s. As would Mother’s.

More than that, for the first time I would have to behave as a man. Not as young Deacon, the boy child, but as Deacon the man, the killer. I could no longer claim to be fulfilling my duty by smiles and delicate gestures of my wrist. I had to be a man and do a man’s work. Violent work. Ugly work.

It was just an execution, I told myself, much as had been done to Bareth and my uncles. Yet it was murder, too. It was well within my abilities as Deacon, I told myself, but I felt much more like Cherysse. Perhaps for the first time, I really wanted to be Cherysse. A girl would not be expected to wait with a club to take a man’s life. Brutally. From the darkness like a coward. A man should not have to be a coward. A girl should not have to be a murderer. What was I? What did I have to do?

My duty became clear before my heart resolved the rightness of it. Julia gave me plenty of warning, chattering brightly as she ascended the stairs. I turned the lightness of my face into the shadow and tried to disappear as one more shadow among many. Her voice gave me a clear track on their progress, along with the rustle of her skirts and tap of her court shoes. Strane moved silently. Except for our plan I would not have known he was there. So I waited until she was well past before carefully looking out from the niche.

She stood on the top steps, drawing his attention past her shoulder even as she stood within the last bit of shelter within the doorway.

"Oh, look, Strane, at the halo the moon makes through the clouds.

The rain must be slacking off."

My slim leggings made no sound at all as I stepped out from my hiding place. The heavy club I held seemed surprising light in my hands as I wound my body up in a deliberate imitation of the coiled spring that had once characterized Drayson. It was an execution, I told myself.

The justification for my assassination rang within my mind as I took the final step, "For my father, who never loved me yet whom my mother loved. For my brother, Tamor, whom Julia loved. For Drayson, whose hands I held between my own as I took his loyalty oath. And for Bareth, who among all men was the only one that ever respected me."

The club caught Strane just at the base of his neck, sinking so deep-ly that I knew the bones were crushed. He collapsed without a sound but I caught him before he could hit the ground.

"Quickly, Julia, catch some water to put on his boots," I ordered, gasping under the weight.

She dampened his boots and the step as well, adding some to her own feet with foresight I didn’t appreciate right then. Together we held his body upright as I squeezed past to stand beside her on the highest step. Then we pushed Strane’s lifeless body down the dark stair, losing it to gloom before it had even stopped moving.

"Let me get back to my room before you cry out," I said.

"Of course," she replied, a feral grin on her face that showed more pleasure than I wanted to think about right then.

I had to dress before I moved past Strane in case someone else saw me so it was a terribly long time before I was on my way. I was sure that at any second someone would see his broken body, leading inexorably to a demand for explanations I could not provide.

But my fear were groundless. In moments I again appeared the demure, well-dressed princess. Picking up my skirts to avoid any contact with the dead body, I moved quickly to my room. As soon as I was there I summoned Minah to help me change into my dressing gown. She took the ruined petticoats and hid them in a trunk of her own clothes, adding the leggings and snood that were inappropriate for my attire.

Then we sat down to wait in a painfully-tense repeat of the night of Olrin’s murder. I almost fainted when a harsh knocking sounded at our door.

"Your Highness, Princess Cherysse, come quickly. There has been a terrible accident."

I nodded at Minah but sat quietly at my desk. When the door opened, Baron Spencer himself stood in the doorway.

"What accident?" I asked as I stood quickly, letting him see my hurry.

"Lord Strane of High Canyon has fallen and killed himself."

"What? How?" Playing a part was never harder.

"He and Lady Julia went to the balcony they have favored lately.

Julia says she slipped a little, and Strane fell himself in saving her."

"Is Julia all right?"

"Yes, fine, though she is shaken by the experience. She may also have to fear a chill since her own shoes are wet."

As though this were a cue Julia appeared down the hallway, escorted by Baroness Pamela and two or three other attendants. They swept into our room as though they owned it, which I guess they did, and started strip-ping Julia of her wet clothes even as I stood talking to Baron Spencer. Minah took the edge of the door and started to close it in a pointed demand for privacy. Nodding at her, I followed Spencer out into the hallway and we went to look at the body.

It looked different in the light of the torches held by bystanders. More crumpled somehow, helpless. No longer something to be feared, no longer something that justified cowardly assassination rather than honest combat. Strane had not been a man to like but he had not been without honor in the service of his own king. For the first time I realized what I had done in a way that was more than intellectual. I had murdered a human being and that sin would be with me to my grave. It made me suddenly ill to think of it and I nearly collapsed.

"Are you all right, Highness?" Spencer asked.

I just nodded, trying to swallow the bile that threatened my throat. Trying at the same time to draw clean air into my lungs, and failing as always within that despicable garment that imprisoned me. It was several moments before I could speak.

"Have you examined the body? You’re sure he was hurt in a fall?" I asked.

"Yes, certainly. Look, there is no blood, no cut. Strane was a strong man and no attacker could have killed him without a fight, except with a stab from behind. Also, look here. His neck is broken, obviously from one of the stairs."

The close range display of his broken body threatened once again to overwhelm me and I had to turn away. Baron Spencer moved as though to comfort me but I waved him weakly away as I leaned against a nearby wall. When I could, I stood straight once again.

"You say he died protecting Julia?"

"Yes, Highness, at least, that is her story and it makes sense. The top steps can get slippery. If she started to stumble, he would have supported her which might easily have caused him to overbalance himself."

"Very well, or actually this is very bad. It will not go over well with our ‘guests’. Make sure that everyone involved makes a statement witnessed by a priest, excepting only Lady Julia who will accompany me back to Stalwart Guard."

"Are you leaving then?"

"Yes, as soon as possible in the morning. Have, um, something done with the body so that we can transport it back with us. I’m sure Lyonidas will want to see for himself. Oh, and get some of his men up here before anything is moved. Make them witness as well, though they may refuse to witness before one of our priests if they choose."

I sighed with all the emphasis my steel companion allowed and con-cluded, "Now, I had better return to Lady Julia. I’m sure she is dis-tressed."

Even the dressing gown had enough sweep to allow a distinct gesture to emphasize my movement and I was unimpeded by further comments while I returned to our chamber.

Julia was already in bed, looking very pale. I nodded to Minah who started to shoo the other attendants away then spoke to Baroness Pamela myself.

"I think we should just get some rest, now."

The Baroness looked at me and nodded, moving to follow the others who were departing.

When she was gone, I dropped my own dressing gown and slid into bed beside Julia.

"Are you all right?" I asked now in my turn.

"Yes," she said, trying a small smile. It didn’t work very well, but the effort itself was reassuring. "He looked so . . . different when the torches arrived."

"I know. I didn’t think it would be like this when we were planning his death."

"His murder, you mean," Julia whispered.

"His execution, if you will," I replied. She nodded, not convinced but not arguing.

"Hold me," she asked quietly.

"Only if you will hold me," I answered.

We wrapped ourselves together and lay in silence until at some point sleep took us. Whether both together or one at a time I couldn’t say.

 

(continued in Part )

 

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Milady's Wiles © 1998 by Brandy Dewinter. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.