Daring In a Blue Dress Read online

  He smiled to himself. Ever since his conversation with Tamarind, he’d been having some very startling thoughts, and now it appeared that Mercy was on the same track. “You think they are important?”

  “I do.” She eyed him. “What if . . . what if rather than some homeless person hiding out in the passages who was allergic to dust, or old homes, or whatever, what if it was someone doing something specific in the passage?”

  “Something specific like making drugs?”

  Her eyes widened. “You think so, too?”

  “I didn’t until this evening, but now . . . aren’t antihistamines and decongestants used in making methamphetamines?”

  “I believe so. Now I wish I’d done some medical courses. Should we tell the police?”

  “I think,” he said slowly, sliding a hand down her arm. She was clad in a tank top and a pair of knit shorts, and he desperately wanted her naked, and in his arms. Or sitting astride him, telling him just how wonderful he felt. Or beneath him, moaning and writhing. “I think that they might already be thinking along those lines.”

  “Good. If Lisa was cooking meth under the hall as well as tried to murder you, then she definitely needs to go to jail.”

  He laughed, and pulled her down over his chest so he could kiss her properly. “She’s been here less time than you have, sweetheart. I doubt if she could set up and dismantle a meth lab in that time without us knowing it.”

  “Dammit, I hate it when you’re right. Oh well. I guess I’m just going to have to make mad, passionate, wild bunny love to you so that you totally forget I even mentioned that. Oh!”

  She slipped out of his embrace, much to his dismay.

  He watched her kneel next to a new duffel bag. “And here I was enjoying the idea of mad bunny love. Why have you forsaken me for the charms of a bag, madam?”

  She looked up, grinning. “I love it when you talk all ye olde English. I bought something for you in town the last time I was there, and what with all the stuff going on, I forgot to give it to you.”

  “What is it?” he asked suspiciously when she did a seductive walk back to the bed, her hands behind her back. “It’s not handcuffs, is it?”

  “Of course not,” she said with a little snort of disgust before whipping her hands around to the front. “It’s furry cuffs!”

  “That is the same thing as a handcuff.”

  “Nope.” She knelt on the bed, and wrapped the leather and bright pink faux-fur restraint around his wrist. “This is a leather cuff. Handcuffs are made of metal and are hurty. This is nice and soft. And look, I bought yarn to use as a tie, so if you get panicky and freak out, you can break it and be free, although I really hope you don’t, because I think you’ll like this if you give it a chance.”

  And that is how Alden found himself, some five minutes later, lying on his back, naked, his hands tied to the headboard, nervously watching Mercy shimmy her way out of her sleeping apparel.

  “And just to make sure that you enjoy this . . .” She reached over the edge of the bed to a nightstand, pulling out a small bottle. “A little love potion of the slick type. I thought we would start the proceedings by me oiling you up and licking you off.”

  Just like that, he was hard. It was an instantaneous event. . . . One moment he was his normal quiescent—although interested—self, and the next, he had a full-on erection.

  “Do I need a condom?” he asked, his breath coming a bit short as she poured a little reddish oil into her hands, swishing it around on them.

  “I don’t think so. I’m on birth control, and now that we know each other better, it’s not so vital, is it?”

  “No. Definitely not. Absolutely not. We’re good there.”

  She grinned, and leaned over to kiss him. “You’re babbling, my love.”

  “I know. I can’t help it. Are you going to use that oil, or just sit there holding it all night?”

  “Anticipatory? That’s part of the fun of having your hands tied. Now, let’s see if you like this. . . .”

  He liked it. He liked it very much, something he told her repeatedly as she rubbed the oil into his penis, her hands like fire, leaving little oily streaks that warmed on his flesh. She used her hands and mouth on him, causing him to thrash around on the bed, his entire body now an erogenous zone.

  “This is exquisite torture,” he gasped at one point, when she was rubbing her breasts across his penis. “I want to make you stop, but at the same time, I never want it to end.”

  “I told you it would be good,” she said, looking up. “It’s the feeling of being helpless. Normally, I don’t like that in sexual play, because, as a woman, we’re almost always in the submissive role, but I have to say that the idea of having you run amok on me is enough that I want to ride you like a two-bit camel.”

  “Ride me,” he begged, his hips thrusting upward when her hands did a slippery dance along his length. “Please god, if you have any mercy in your soul, ride me hard and ride me long.”

  “Well, as you begged . . .”

  “I did! I begged! I’ll do it again if you want!”

  “Then I guess I can give in to both our desires.” She positioned herself with her knees around his hips, rubbing the very tip of him against her womanly parts. He bucked upward, making her eyes widen when he entered her just a little bit. Without another word, she sank down on him, causing them both to moan in pleasure.

  It didn’t take long for either of them. Just as Alden was gritting his teeth, thinking of horrible things like boils and pustules in order to not leave Mercy behind, she arched back, her muscles gripping him in rippling waves that ensured that even the most repulsive thoughts couldn’t stop his orgasm. He jerked his hands down, snapping the yarn, and holding on to her hips as he pistoned, his mind and body one with the effort to pour himself into her.

  When she collapsed down onto him, slick with perspiration and the body oil, he peeled off the wrist restraints, and wrapped his arms around her, capturing the wild beating of her heart against his chest, where his own raced madly.

  “You are mine forever,” he murmured, kissing her forehead and eyes and cheeks and that adorable little chin. “I love you, and I’m never letting you go.”

  “That’s fine with me—wait, what?” She pushed herself back just enough to see him. “Did you say what I thought you said?”

  “Yes.” He pulled her back down to where she belonged, next to his heart. “Go to sleep. I plan on waking you up in the middle of the night and tying your hands to the headboard.”

  She giggled against him as he rolled onto his side, wiggling until she was comfortably smooshed up against him. “I don’t suppose you’d like to repeat that?”

  “Certainly. Go to sleep.”

  She disengaged one hand and pinched him on the nipple. He swatted her behind, immediately followed by a caress. “That isn’t what I meant, and you know it.”

  “I know, but I’m a man. We have to sleep after sex.”

  “That’s the biggest cop-out in the world. Say it.”

  He sighed, ruffling the hair on the top of her head. “Fine, but this is cutting into the time I will need to make you squirm with utter delight. I love you, my sweet Mercy. You make me feel like a different man, a better man. You make me happy. You delight me on every level. Now go to sleep so I can show you later just how much I love you. You do have more yarn, yes?”

  “Lots.”

  “Good. We’re going to need it.” He kissed the top of her head, allowing exhaustion to claim him.

  Chapter 18

  Fight Knight was in full swing by the time I made it out to Bestwood’s garden.

  Yellow police tape had been placed ten feet beyond the perimeter of the ruins, bolstered by hay bales, and tall orange traffic cones. Periodically along the yellow tape, signs that Alden and I had written warned visitors that they were straying into off-
limits territory.

  I turned my back to the black shell of the house, feeling that was something I couldn’t cope with when the world lay out before me like a glittering, wonderful map of everything good and happy and sexy.

  Approximately a hundred and twenty people milled around the garden, a good number of them in plate armor, while the others (mostly women) trotted around with various bits of plate and weaponry in their hands. The main list had been set up where Vandal’s lesson ring had been, with an assortment of lawn chairs, blankets, and coolers set up three rows deep around the edges. There were some children running around, but not as many as I’d expected. I speculated that they were left at home because of the potential injuries that might result from the fighting.

  I waved at Alec when he passed by carrying two tubs of armor, smiled and greeted people who’d taken my classes and who were competing, and dodged my way around various men and women who were getting geared up for the various melee fights.

  “Morning, Mercy. You look . . . good.”

  I stopped when Fenice called to me from the stables.

  “Thanks. I feel good.” I tried not to beam my happy “Alden loves me! Alden loves me!” vibes to everyone, feeling it would come across as unbearably smug.

  But I hugged myself with the knowledge nonetheless. I was loved, really and truly loved. Not by a geeky kid in university, but well and properly loved by a man.

  I loved Alden, and he loved me, and everything was going to be jim-dandy fine.

  “Is something going on?” Fenice asked, giving me an odd look as I did a happy little twirl in my now somewhat ratty blue dress. I’d cleaned it up as best I could for the big event, since I felt it was my lucky dress. At least it felt lucky to me, and that’s what luck was all about. “Is something . . . you’re not . . . are you pregnant? I swear you’re glowing.”

  “Not pregnant,” I said with a laugh, and did another twirl before giving Fenice a big hug. “Just in love.”

  “Oh, that.” She rolled her eyes, and handed me the heavy canvas bag that held her backup bow, the one I’d be using in my classes. “I’m glad you and Alden are happy, but are you going to be able to focus? The team competition is in twenty minutes, and since you’re the only one on our team, it’s vital you’re ready to go. You can be spacey this afternoon, for the individual competition.”

  “I’ll focus, I’ll focus. Promise. Just one more twirl, and then I’ll go warm up.”

  “No twirls. Twirls are forbidden at Fight Knight unless you are a ninja. Go warm up.” She pointed to the two archery butts that were designated for practice.

  “Can I skip there, humming ‘Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah’?”

  Her lips thinned. “No skipping, no twirling. You are a professional.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You could be one if you applied yourself. You are an adult.”

  “An adult who is in looove,” I all but sang.

  “And you represent Hard Day’s Knights, so no skipping, twirling, or any actions that a five-year-old girl might make.”

  “Well, hell, now I can’t even stick my tongue out at you,” I said, slinging the case’s strap over my shoulder, and making a point of stomping my feet when I left.

  “I hear that!” she called after me, which just had me giggling.

  I lined up for the practice butts (the British are very serious about their queues), and managed to get five minutes of warm-up in before my group of four was called to do our best.

  Alden, I knew, was getting geared up and receiving any last-minute instruction and advice from Vandal before his one-on-one battle, so I didn’t expect to have any supporters other than Fenice when I took up my borrowed bow.

  “Competing for Hard Day’s Knights,” the ring announcer yelled, holding up a clipboard with the schedule and contestants. “Mercedes Starling.”

  There was a brief commotion at the edge of the ring, a metallic sort of commotion. As I lined my toes up on the official mark, I glanced over to see Alden clanking his way to the ring, fully armed, carrying his helm.

  He held out a mail hand and gave me a thumbs-up. I grinned, and blew him a kiss.

  Beside him, Fenice did a little jig of anger, and stabbed her finger toward the archery butt. The glare she sent my way could have taken paint off a barn door. I spread my grin to her, just barely refrained from blowing her a kiss, too (I didn’t want her to have a fit right there in front of everyone), and instead turned to face the target.

  The judge blew her whistle, alerting me that I had two minutes to shoot six arrows.

  Breathe, I remembered my old archery coach telling me before a competition. Feel the air coming into your lungs, and exiting. Forget everything else but your breathing, and the target.

  I lifted the bow, trying to push out all the jubilant feelings that rolled around inside of me, making me want to dance and sing and shout with happiness.

  I breathed. As I drew air into my lungs, I lifted the bow upward until it was over my head, exhaling as I brought it back down, my other arm pulling the string back to my jaw as I did so.

  For a split second, I didn’t breathe. The whole world seemed to stop, my gaze narrowing on the center point of the gold bull’s-eye, exactly where I wanted to put the arrow. As I let my fingers relax, the string slipped past them, and I knew by the sound of the twang that the arrow was true.

  Polite applause met my bull’s-eye, along with some metallic clanging that I took to be Alden clapping. I locked another arrow into place, deciding where I wanted it to go in the bull’s-eye (neatly alongside the first arrow), and I breathed.

  I left the archery ring with a score of four bull’s-eyes, and two in the next ring down, or a total of fifty-eight. I knew that wasn’t good enough to win the competition (since the other archers had a lot more experience than me), but I was pleased with my result nonetheless.

  And so was Fenice.

  “Nicely done,” she said, buffeting me on the shoulder. “You did us proud. I’m almost tempted to let you keep that bow.”

  “Oooh,” I said, clutching it hopefully to my chest.

  “Almost,” she said, smiling as she walked away to help Vandal.

  I looked for Alden, but he wasn’t there. I tucked the bow away in the stable, made sure the doors were locked, and did a quick patrol of the area as suggested by Fenice. Most people had enough sense to avoid the outbuildings, but I did rumble a couple of kids and one couple who were old enough to know better.

  “Seriously, people,” I told the shamefaced couple, shooing them toward the door of the shed. “You wouldn’t do this in your own garden, would you?”

  “Every Sunday!” the man said, making the woman give a nervous giggle.

  “Well, it’s not Sunday now, and if I catch you in there again, I’m going to tell Vandal.”

  They left with only minor grumbling.

  The crowd outside the melee ring was large, since most people came for that, and I had a hard time working my way around the various bodies to where the men were being readied to fight. As I rounded the far side, I realized that the reason I couldn’t find Alden was that he was already in the ring.

  Alden staggered back when the man—a veritable giant of a guy—slammed his shield across Alden’s arm and chest. I ran for the other side, one eye on Alden while he took a hell of a beating, the other scanning the crowd for Vandal or Fenice. I found them both assisting one of Vandal’s students into his armor.

  “Who is Alden fighting?” I asked, knowing the lots weren’t drawn for the matches until the last minute. “I missed the start. How is he doing—ow. Oh, that had to be unfair! Why aren’t the judges stopping that huge man!”

  “That’s Dan Jacobs. He used to be regional champion five or six years ago, and that backhand to Alden’s helm was a perfectly legal move,” Vandal said, shouting encouragement to Alden when the latter staggered forw
ard and almost fell on his face. “Stay on your feet, man!”

  “Is it legal to have a champion fighting a newbie?” I asked, clutching my hands together and wincing when the huge man kicked out, catching Alden on the knee. Alden swung around and slammed his shield into the man, sending him staggering to the side. “That seems wrong to me.”

  “It would be if he was still a champion, but he’s been out of competition for a few years due to back surgery, so he’s considered a beginner just like Alden. Shield up, Alden! Keep the damned shield up!”

  I left Vandal and Fenice, and scurried along the crowds until I found a spot where I could push up to the edge of the hay bales that marked the ring.

  “Beat the tar out of him!” I yelled over the sounds of the crowd shouting their own encouragement. “Knock him to the ground and stomp all over him! Kick him in the balls! Hack him to bits with your sword and dance a jig on the bloody remains!”

  A hush fell over the crowd nearest me as I bellowed out the last sentence. I was caught by surprise when I noticed that everyone was staring at me.

  “Um. Too far?” I asked the sea of startled faces turned my way.

  “Newbies,” one woman said, shaking her head and turning back to the action.

  “Sorry. I just wanted to give Alden some encouragement—oh, hell, it’s over?”

  The giant, who had knocked Alden to the ground right at the end of their allotted time, held out a hand and hauled him to his feet, the two men leaving the ring together in apparent accord.

  I excused myself out of the crowd, and headed for the staging area where the combatants were armed and disarmed, almost stepping on Lisa, who popped up suddenly in front of me.

  “Sugar! Just the person I’ve been wanting to see.” She looked a little worse for wear, her hair gathered up in a very messy bun, her clothes a bit wrinkled, and the scarf she wore knotted around her neck had a coffee stain on the end, no doubt from the latte she clutched in her hand. She also wore sunglasses, which I suspected covered bloodshot eyes. “Have you seen Alden?”