BEDTIME STORIES 3—SWEPT AWAY

By DixieHellcat

It helps to have read the first two…possibly while sitting on a block of ice…

“Help me out here, Yvette,” I said. “Clay wants to go to a Ren Faire, badly. And I want him to be able to. There’s got to be a way we can pull this off without him being recognized and disrupting the whole place, not to mention disappointing him. A medieval festival does not need a 21^st century pop-star media feeding frenzy.”

My best friend sat beside me on a bench at the beach and scrutinized the lunch bag in her lap as if it held the secrets of the ages. “I’m in. Two brilliant women can surely come up with an appropriate disguise.”

Yvette was my first entry into the world of Renaissance Faires. We’d met while I was camping in libraries, researching one of my novels with the help of documents not yet online. She is a professor of kinesiology at a local university, but on weekends she prowls the faires as a Moorish thief. “We need something that’ll totally hide his appearance but not be too cumbersome,” I told her.

“Understandable. Unfortunately that rules out my first thought, which was armor. A helm would conceal his face and head completely, but he’d have to raise it sometime to shove a turkey leg in there.”

“You know my man too well, girlfriend,” I chuckled. “Food can always be his downfall, darn his skinny self. Yeah, lugging that heavy stuff around would make him cranky pretty quickly. Shame, though; I was just pondering how good he’d look with chain mail draping along his thighs.”

“Not to mention which, if you put him in some tight leggings underneath, he could have everyone in sight frightened of his lance, instead of just you.”

“Girl, stop. Are you sure you’re not secretly a Lecherous Broad?”

“Of course, just not with the capital letters. Your husband is adorable, sister, but you know I’d never poach on your turf. Besides, he’s way too fair for me. Dark meat’s juicier.”

“So you think!” We shoved each other playfully. “How about a highwayman?” I wondered. “A bandit. Sort of a Middle Ages Zorro, with, say, a mask and a hat, or something like that.”

Yvette munched her sandwich for a moment and then chortled. “I got it. Simple, yet effective, like most things that actually work.” She hopped up and tossed the last of her chips to the rapacious seagulls. “C’mon, let’s go back to my office and misuse my institutional internet hookup for some serious shopping.”

Once Vet shared her idea the shopping was a snap—even the footwear, which I worried would be hardest to fit. The timing was perfect, too. Clay was finishing a blitz tour of the US and Canada promoting the newest Disney film in which he had a sizable voice role. Thus, he wasn’t home when the boxes started to roll in over the next week or two; but by the time he rolled in, every piece of the costume was tucked safely away in my closet.

I was as excited as a kid who’s gotten mom and dad something incredibly cool for Christmas and can’t wait for them to unwrap it. I held myself together till after supper—I had a very special approach in mind to revealing my plan. “I got you a surprise while you were gone,” I told Clay as we relaxed at the dining room table. “It’s something you said you really wanted. Do you want it now, or wait till later?”

Well, hello! Remember what I said about my childlike excitement—well, he’s as big a kid as they come! “What do you mean, wait?” he exclaimed. “Now, of course! But Ari—you didn’t have to do that—you were so busy with interviews for your new book, and photo shoots and everything—“ He fairly bounced with delight, and hugged me tight.

“No, I didn’t have to, silly. I wanted to. Now wait here and I’ll be right back.” I got the boxes out of their hiding places, but took only one item from the bedroom back with me. “It’ll take a few minutes to get it all together, and I’ll need your help; but I don’t want you to see it till it’s all ready.”

“Okay, I’ll close my eyes,” Clay assented, and did.

“And I’d trust you to, but one blink would ruin the whole thing.” I walked behind his chair; pulling the gold-brown silk scarf from my sweatpants pocket, I reached around and trailed it across his face. He started, and twisted around. I held up the scarf. “Is it okay if I blindfold you?”

“Oh, it’s that kind of surprise?”

‘That kind of surprise’ meant the love games we sometimes play. He tried to sound arch, but I heard the note of uncertainty in his voice. When he proposes something on the spur of the moment I’m generally more than willing to let him lead, unless I’m really not in the mood for it; but if he’s not in control he’s always more comfortable knowing exactly what’s going to happen. He likes structure in all of his life, and that’s fine with me. I don’t know why (though I have my suspicions) and I don’t care. “No, it’s not that kind of surprise. I know you don’t like having things like that sprung on you! You know I’m not gonna tie you to the bedpost and have my way with you or something, without telling you first. Unless you really want me to.”

“That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind for tonight.”

“Me neither. So since we’re in agreement on that, let me show you your surprise first. Will you go along? I’ll tell you everything I’m doing, except what would spoil it. It’ll only take a few minutes, I promise. Believe me, I wouldn’t deprive myself of the pleasure of looking into your beautiful eyes for any longer than I absolutely have to.”

“Hmph,” he snorted. “Flattery will get you nowhere…Okay, let’s do this.” I wrapped the scarf around his eyes and knotted it securely at the back of his head. “That’s not very tight.”

“I know. If it were it’d be easier for you to peek, you sneak.” I helped him to stand and move his chair, and put his hand on my elbow so we could walk sighted-guide to the bedroom. “Here, sit down on the bed.” I settled him there and started digging into the boxes. When my eyes wandered to the closet, I had a sudden inspiration, and went and pulled my own Ren costume down from its hangers. “Give me another minute. I’m going to do something else to help the effect, sort of.”

I pulled off my sweats and slipped my chemise over my head. It was cream-colored linen, cut like an old-fashioned nightgown, with lace-trimmed sleeves and a full ruffled skirt that fell almost to the floor. A sturdy dark green skirt went over it, and then my black satin corset. I did up the front and drew the laces in back—a quick job, but it would do. Clay sat and fidgeted, his fingers running along the seam lines of the quilted coverlet on the bed, then drumming on his thighs. He cocked his head, listening, as attentive as an animal in the wild. “You’re changing clothes,” he said. “Are you sure you’re not about to attack me?”

“Not now, I’m not. Later, well, sure. For heaven’s sake, it’s been three weeks. Yeah, I’m gonna attack you, unless you attack me first! But not until you see this.” I tied the corset laces up. “There, that’s done. Now let’s get you set.” I knelt and took off his shoes, then rose to unbutton his shirt.

When my skirt brushed against his hand he said, “What are you wearing?” and reached for me.

“Uh-uh!” I danced beyond his arms’ length. “No touchee!”

“No touchee,” he mocked and lunged.

I grabbed his hands, partly amused and partly annoyed. “Come on, Clay, please!” I pleaded.

He stopped moving. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice suddenly small.

“No, I’m sorry. I really wanted you to be surprised, but this obviously wasn’t a good way to go about it.” I touched the blindfold at his temple. “If this is making you so uncomfortable let’s forget it. I’ll just show you the parts, you’ll get the idea—“

“No!” Now he caught my hands and brought them down from his face. “I was just bein’ a dork; but this means a lot to you. I can tell. I can hear it in your voice.”

“I’ve been thinking about it ever since you mentioned it, trying to figure out how to do it. Then when I did, I’ve been getting it all together, deciding how to show you, and imagining how excited you’d be, and how happy…”

“Well, I have no idea what I could’ve asked for to make you go to all this trouble, but I’m sure it’ll be amazing.”

“You’ll love it, Clay. I know you will.”

He kissed my hands. “I love you,” he said, “and now you’ve got me really curious! I’ll be good, I promise.”

“You, be good? I know better,” I chuckled and kissed his cheek.

When he felt my lips touch his skin, he turned his head quickly so his met them. “When I’m good,” he murmured against my mouth, “I’m really good. When I’m bad, I like to think I’m still pretty good.”

“Oh, you’re infinitely better than pretty good.”

His hands found my waist. “You’re wearin’ a corset,” he almost sighed.

“See?” I caught his hands and moved them away. “I knew you couldn’t be good! Now behave yourself.” He threw up his hands laughing, but he sat quietly while I finished unbuttoning his shirt and slipped it off his shoulders. “Mm, undershirt’s gonna have to go too, or it’ll spoil the look. Here, help me.” He held the blindfold in place while I pulled his T-shirt off. Then I dropped over his head a white shirt with long full sleeves, snug cuffs and a lace-up neck.

Clay slid his arms through and explored the garment with his hands. “Don’t you have a shirt that ties at the neck like this?”

“Yeah, my old navy blue Ralph Lauren top from the thrift store. Rest assured, this ain’t it.”

“Good, I had this awful vision of a guy I knew in college whose frat made him dress in drag to get in.”

“Don’t worry, making you look girly is the last thing on my mind.” I pulled the pants from their box and shook them out. “Stuff’s a little wrinkled. Wish I’d thought to iron ‘em, but I’ll get to it before you actually wear them. Here, take your jeans off and try these on. Leave your boxers, they should be okay.”

“That better not be a skirt,” he teased, “or I’m gonna have to spank somebody.”

“Promises, promises.” This wasn’t the way I had envisioned the event going down; but when he slid his jeans down over his hips, something lurking in those boxers was clearly not going down. I should have expected it, as long as we’d been apart. Not that it bothered me in the slightest, as long as we could both maintain our self-control long enough for him to appreciate his surprise!

He pulled on the black pants and I helped him tuck the shirt in. The simple cut of the trousers, I was pleased to see, showed off his powerful thighs and fine butt to perfection. If he drew stares, it ought to be for his looks, not his identity! “They’re comfy, whatever they are. Now what?”

“Almost finished. Sit back down for a minute.” Again I knelt at his feet (with practice I’d gotten very good at getting into and out of this and numerous other interesting positions in a corset) and opened another box.

“Leather,” he said instantly. I made a frustrated little noise. “Hey, you didn’t say I had to turn my nose off. It’s hard to miss that smell.”

I had to laugh. “Yes, it is,” I agreed. “I love it. Here’s hoping they fit.” I slid the black boots onto his feet, tucking the pants legs into them and turning the cuffs down just below his knees.

He moved his feet around, his mouth pulled to one side in concentration. “Those are nice.” The whole view was nice, and getting nicer all the time. I helped him slip on the matching vest, and he fingered the soft leather. “Really nice! Ari, how much did you spend on all this?”

“As much as I wanted to!” I retorted, but I laughed out loud as I did, so he, only able to hear and not see me, wouldn’t think I was really irritated. “You deserve it, and you’d probably never do it for yourself, but I can. That’s the nice thing about having a few best-sellers under my belt. I can splurge a little. You know I’m not extravagant. On you, though, I will spare no expense. I wanted to do this right, and get something you’d love.”

He was very still for a moment. “I don’t understand any of this, but I love you for doing it.” I grinned and pulled out a brightly colored kerchief. It went over his head and around, and I tied it on the side so the fringed edges dangled jauntily over his right ear. “Lord, tell me that’s not a turban.”

“It’s not a turban. Although that wouldn’t have been a bad idea. It would’ve worked with the outfit too. Maybe later.”

I popped a huge gold-colored loop earring on his left ear. “What in the world!” he yelped, but he was laughing too. “Are you through with me yet?”

“Almost. Two other things. Except one will have to wait till you take the blindfold off. Stand up and we’ll get the other one on.” I picked up the wide black leather belt, laced it through the scabbard, and considered. “Straight draw or cross draw? Oh heck, I’ll just put it on you and you can decide yourself later.”

When he stood, he wiggled his feet in the boots to settle them. Damn, they looked great. He looked great. I started thinking we were going to get out of these clothes a lot faster than we got into them. With a serious effort at exerting a little willpower, I buckled the belt low, just above his hip bones. The sheathed cutlass bumped his leg and he jumped. “Oh, this is insane!” he sputtered, but with a huge grin. Thank heavens, he was enjoying the mystery now!

I took his hands in mine and led him to the big old full-length mirror in its stand. Lord, I hope he likes this as much as I wished. “Okay, you can take the blindfold off now.”

He didn’t even bother to untie it. Instead he jerked it down far enough to see over it, which somewhat muffled his yell of amazement. I untied it, while he stared at his reflection. “But—but Halloween’s not for months!”

“Nope, but there’s a big Renaissance Faire next weekend. You’ve got two months to work on the new album, so I know they can spare you for one Saturday. Nobody’ll think of looking for you there, and this way they won’t see you even if they do.” I handed him a black cloth eye patch on a cord. “Might be a good idea to let your razor gather dust for a while beforehand, too. Pirates tend to look scruffy. Certainly not something I’ll complain about. You know I like you scruffy anyhow.”

He laughed in disbelief, then put the patch on, planted his fists on his hips and let out an ‘Arrr…”. It was fairly piratical and not half bad, though the effect was somewhat diminished when he burst into giggles. “Oh, wow. I can be a total idiot all day in public and nobody will care!” He grabbed me in a huge hug that brought my feet off the ground. “This is amazing, Ari. I wouldn’t ever have imagined something like this. I cannot believe you went and did all this for me!”

“Just call me your genie,” I laughed. “You told me you’d love to go to a faire, but you were too considerate to do it and risk spoiling everybody else’s good time. And you’re always wishing for a little anonymity now and then. I’m just happy I found a way to give you something you want so badly.” I smiled up at him and touched his face. “Anything that’s within my power to give to the man that I love, I’ll do.”

His kiss was a most eloquent reply. His hands found my corset laces, and I was thinking things were starting to look like the cover of a bodice-ripper novel, when my phone’s unromantic shrill burst into our world. Grumbling, I found it lying on the dresser and answered. Worse yet, if that were possible as hot as I was right then, it was the photographer my publisher had hired to do publicity shots for my new book. The guy was obnoxious, arrogant, and not even good enough at what he did to halfway justify those bad qualities. I couldn’t figure out why they had hired him, but hadn’t decided yet how to broach it with them. He was also incredibly long-winded, so I sighed and started to undress so I wouldn’t mess my costume up. Wile parrying his supercilious comments about Hollywood, writers, music, and pretty much anything that wasn’t him, I got down to my skivvies one-handed, and was looking for where I had dropped my sweats when two large hands took hold of me from behind.

My focus was totally torn from the voice on the phone when Clay walked around in front of me, as undressed as I was—no, more so, since even his boxers were gone—and lowered himself easily to his knees. I gulped and tried to back away, but he gripped my hips firmly, and looked up at me from under his eyelids. The green eyes behind the curtain of lashes were smoldering. The photog’s complaints faded to a mosquito buzz in my ear as Clay’s soft lips roamed my belly and thighs. I fought to keep enough sense to carry on the conversation, until my panties slid down my legs and his insistent mouth took their place. Then I swallowed a cry, and got rid of the jerk as fast as I could, publisher politics be damned! “Clay!” I gasped. “What if—ah—what if that had been—something—ohhh—really important!”

“You wouldn’t’ve been rollin’ your eyes like Simon Cowell after a real rough night.” I sighed to watch the work of the muscles in his thighs as he stood and pulled me to him. The salt-sweetness of my juice wet his lips against mine, and the hardness of his arousal nudged my pulsing crotch. “Whoever it was, you didn’t want to talk to ‘em, even if you felt like you should. But you got rid of them when you had to, for something really important. That was well done. Very decisive. Just like a pirate’s wench ought to.”

He backed me into the nearest corner of the bedroom. “Hey,” I mock-protested between deep kisses, “who says she’s the pirate’s wench?”

“The pirate says.” He caressed my butt, then slid one hand under my thigh and lifted it aside. “And anybody who argues with the pirate is likely to get run through with his sword.”

When I opened my mouth he must’ve thought I was planning to argue, because that’s exactly the fate I met. “Ohh, you’re so bad…”

“Shh, don’t tell anybody.” He shushed me with his mouth while he moved inside me.

“No,” I breathed huskily, and matched the rhythm of his hips with mine. It felt so good. Three weeks was far too long to be without this wonderful man, and my pent-up need exploded in seemingly no time. His heat filled me with the same immediacy, and he moaned my name and slumped against me. “No, I’d better keep this my little secret,” I said when I was able to speak again. “Nobody would believe the sheer wickedness lurking behind that choir-boy face, anyway.”

He snickered, and thrust lazily one more time just for spite, then kissed me again. “You are beyond belief, Arianne,” he murmured. “Thank you for loving me.”

“No, thank you.” Now he rolled his eyes—the nerve of me to trot out an old AI joke of all things! We made our way to the bed, but I paused to grab my phone.

“What’s that for?”

“I’m calling my publisher and bother her at supper, to ask what we can do about that self-important little man I just got rid of.”

Clay flopped onto a pillow and laughed wile I dialed. “Go get ‘em, wench.”

+++

I did, too. As it turned out, the photographer, using the title loosely, was the nephew of someone at the company. However, since my contract gives me approval over publicity material, I simply nixed all his pictures, which truly were awful. Then I persuaded them to check out the work of an acquaintance of Clay’s. It was love at first sight. “The wench strikes again,” Clay declared with much glee.

By the time we got all that ironed out, the Ren Faire was upon us. Clay was so excited the night before, I might as well have been trying to get a kid to go to sleep on Christmas Eve. (Notice I said go to sleep, not go to bed. I rarely have trouble persuading Clay to do the latter. In fact, that doesn’t take much persuading at all.) We woke to flawless weather, and dressed with much laughter. I felt like a kid too when we got in the car and headed for the Faire site.

There are three types of people generally found at a Renaissance Faire, or any similar event like a science fiction con. First there are those who show up out of curiosity in their T-shirts and jeans, usually called ‘patrons’. Then there are those actually putting on the event, the folks who spend hours researching, making their costumes, enacting a role and trying to be as historically accurate as possible; they are often called ‘players’. The third recognized group are those who for one reason or another can’t get into the lifestyle full-time, but attend in some costume and take as active a role as they can. The slang term for this group is ‘playtrons’, and I had more or less settled into that group. I’ve made enough friends among the players that when I attend an event I check in with them, hang out a little, and usually get roped into participating in something where they need an extra wench. Today I wasn’t going ‘backstage’ first thing, though, because today was all about Clay and me enjoying the faire together. Still, since we were in costume, I cautioned him as we parked in the field near the Faire entrance. “Patrons will assume we’re players, so let’s kinda stay in character. Keep your swagger on.”

He got out of the car, staring at the huge expanse of bright tents and banners in undisguised wonder. Then he spied a family walking nearby, the children staring at us in delight, and closed his mouth. “Whoa. Gawking is very un-pirate-like, Clayton,” he said under his breath. He shifted a little inside his clothes, then stomped his booted feet. “C’mon, wench, there’s plunder a-waitin’!” he hollered and took off for the entrance—swaggering. I kid you not. Where did he get that suddenly cocksure air, and that walk that could well have come right off a sailing ship of old? Maybe it was the boots. Whatever it was, it looked damn good on him!

I gathered my skirts and hustled to keep up. The pirate wasn’t going to wait around for his wench, probably, or do any of the other gentlemanly things I was accustomed to. This was Clay, though, after all, which meant he did do them, but in a subtlely different way. The change showed in the way he leaned in toward me when he held the gate open for me, the way the one visible green eye drifted down with unconcealed interest toward my corset-enhanced cleavage, the grin that was almost a leer. It was amusing, and, to be hoenst, downright arousing, to find this lascivious stranger cohabiting with my sweet husband.

Yvette had given the other players fair warning, but I prayed as we toured the grounds that no one would go fannish on us. Our paths finally crossed that of some players I knew, and they hailed me in character and asked whence that scowling rogue accompanying me had come. “What?” I demanded. “Is this not still a free faire, where all may come with promise of clemency? This is no other than the notorious buccaneer Red Jack Clayton. We’ll see if he can comport himself among decent folk for a day!”

“Aye, and then we’ll see how well you comport yourself for a night, me wench!” my companion yelled and smacked my butt. “A pirate’s ever lookin’ after booty, dontcha know.” The onlookers laughed and I nearly choked. “Red Jack Clayton?” he hissed in my ear as we moved on.

“Well, there is a little red hair showing.” I adjusted the laces of his collar, loosening them to show just a bit more of his lean torso. Two could play this game!

We ambled through the faire at a leisurely pace, enjoying the elves and troubadours and craftspeople. Naturally, pirates attract small boys, and a half-dozen were soon trailing Clay like his own little pack of Lost Boys. If I tilted my head just right, I could imagine them with red hair and freckles and sunlit smiles like his. Our careers had led us to set aside a family for the moment, but maybe my biological clock was starting to tick. While he amused the kids with some hearty yo-ho’s, I paused to admire a vendor’s jewelry. Suddenly his voice boomed out. “Ahoy, what’s this in me pocket? ‘Tis a hand, I believe! Would this be yours, my lady pickpocket?” I glanced around the side of the jeweler’s stall to find Yvette in her Arabian-Nights style harem pants, one wrist firmly in Clay’s grasp. “Arr, I know better than to carry me gold so unsafely! Good thing for you I’m a gentleman. ‘Tis a rare lady who meets up with the dreaded long sword o’ Red Jack Clayton!”

Ain’t that the truth, I snickered. It was so much fun to see him get into the game and enjoy himself so thoroughly. It was almost as much fun to see Vet squirm around and try to free herself from him. Good grief, she helped me put together his costume; surely it wasn’t so good that she didn’t recognize him? After a few moments’ entertainment, I decided to go get her off the hook. “Hoy, unhand my lady friend, you scoundrel!” I yelled and flounced over to them, where I proceeded to throw a pretty good hissy fit. It ended when I wound up to slap the pirate, who of course grabbed both my wrists and sucked my lips off my face. Wow. I mean, Clay’s a heck of a kisser, but this one made my ears buzz and my hair stand on end!

Yvette looked like she might just fall over in shocked realization. The boys scattered in gleeful mock terror when Clay roared at them, and we high-tailed it for the restricted backstage area. Once safely away from mundane eyes Vet whipped off her turban and smacked me with it, and Clay too for good measure. The good-natured melee drew other players’ attention, but Vet must have threatened them with all manner of medieval tortures, because not one blinked when I casually introduced my husband. Either that, or the naturally laid-back disposition of persons drawn to the hobby of recreating ancient days weren’t easily awed by fame, especially when its owner wasn’t making any effort whatsoever to awe.

If I was relieved, Clay was practically giddy. We ducked in and out of the players’ area while we toured the rest of the faire, and he talked his head off, asked a million questions, and even got a knight to show him a few sword moves. Personally, I’m not sure I would’ve trusted this guy’s word on weapon-play, as he was dressed unsettlingly like Monty Python’s Black Knight, but hey, whatever made Clay happy suited me. At least they didn’t use stuff with actual blades. I don’t think Clive Davis would have taken well to a phone call from me explaining why Clay was in the hospital, even if it was ‘just a flesh wound’…

I suspected my bringing a newbie might exempt me from getting drafted for the entertainment, but late in the afternoon one of the organizers approached us. “We could use some moving activity,” she said. “How about Redbeard here decides to carry his wench back to his ship, and the wench isn’t sold on it?”

I wasn’t sure Clay would be sold on the idea of performing on his day off, but to my surprise he was elated at the suggestion. “You mean I get to chase her all over the place? Yes! All right!”

“Hah!” I scoffed. “You run like a dork. I’ll have to work to make this chase look good.”

His enthusiastic grin did not falter. If anything, it broadened, and took on a slight twist that was almost menacing. “Oh, really?” he said softly. “Better start runnin’, wench.”

Me and my big mouth. I stuck out my tongue at him and sprinted out into the faire. To maximize the entertainment value I raced from one startled group of patrons to the next, and in and out of merchants’ booths, pleading for shelter from the lecherous pirate. Several jumped gleefully into the fray. A leather worker stashed me behind hanging hides and signaled me when it was safe to emerge. A gaggle of red-hat wearing ladies slapped a sequined baseball cap on my head and put me in their midst until my pursuer passed—although they all mumbled afterwards that if something that hot were pursuing them they’d let him catch them! (I couldn’t resist breaking character long enough to assure them I would…eventually.)

At one point, Clay spied me at a short distance and gave chase, but I put a little of what my dad used to call ‘the ol’ shuck and jive’ on him—I faked one way and ran the other. I darted around the flap of a tent and waited, heart pounding, for him to thunder past so I could double back. Instead of the thump of big booted feet, though, I heard only a child crying. “Ohh, sweetie—“ That wasn’t the pirate’s voice; it was all Clay, and more specifically Kid-loving Teacher Clay. I peeked around the canvas and saw him crouched on the ground trying to talk to a small girl who wailed and hid behind her embarrassed father’s pants leg.

I headed that way, making a ‘time out’ sign with my hands when Clay glanced up. With any other man, especially one as competitive as he can be, I might have suspected a ploy; but the very fact of his perfunctory nod at me, his attention fixed on the child, spoke the truth. This was exactly what I expected of him. “What’s the matter, baby?” I asked as I squatted beside him. “Did we scare you? I’m sorry. We’re just playing a game.”

The tiny tow head peered out from behind her dad. Clay grinned at her. “Don’t worry. Pirates don’t bother good little girls. Only bad guys. And bad big girls.” He elbowed me and I hit him teasingly on the shoulder. “Tell you what though, if you’ll wait here a minute and let me go look through my buried treasure, I might have something for a good little girl like you.” I stayed, chatted with the parents, and coaxed the little one out by the time Clay returned. From a vendor he had procured some bright blue glass beads on a neck cord. She took them with a squeal and hugged both our necks before she skipped off.

“You are so great with kids,” I sighed as we stood and watched them go. “I worry I may never be that good.”

“You might worry.” Clay put his arm around my waist and kissed my cheek. “ I know better.”

“I hope so. I want to be a good mother to your children.”

He smiled. “You’re breakin’ character,” he kidded. “Aren’t I supposed to be hoistin’ you from the yardarm or something?”

“Probably. It’s getting late though, so we’d better start wrapping this up. Give me a little head start for one more run?”

“A little,” he cautioned, and away I went! My last break for freedom ended when he cornered me a few minutes later in a grove of trees near the jousting ground. I couldn’t dodge bystanders and obstacles fast enough to evade him, and he pinned me against a big tree’s trunk with his body.

“EEK!” I screamed. “Unhand me, you—you vile, scurrilous—“ I swung at him, but he caught my wrists and pinned them above my head with one big hand while he stroked my cheek and neck with the other. “—tall, broad, handsome, swashbuckling, darn you look good in those boots—oops, I mean wicked, evil—“

With a hearty ‘har-har’ Clay bent and tossed me over his shoulder. I squealed (vigorously) and thrashed (not so vigorously—I didn’t want him to drop me, after all). Then I amused the patrons by looking down and realizing I had a prime view of his luscious butt. I stared, then reached, and generally worked to convey the idea that the wench was putting up a good front, but wasn’t all that distressed at being abducted by the swaggering freebooter. I just hoped he didn’t decide to get macho and try to carry me all the way to the car!

Thankfully, he headed straight for backstage, where we collapsed on the ground in hopeless laughter, joined by the players who had watched. Trailed by delighted pleas for our characters’ return, we decided to head home. Surprisingly, Clay seemed more than willing to consider repeat performances. “That was so much fun,” he exulted. “I’d love to do it again! Maybe I could actually learn what to do with that.” He waved one hand toward the cutlass and scabbard I held across my lap; he had taken them off his belt and handed them to me when he discovered it was very hard to drive without them getting in the way.

“Really?” I ran my hand slowly up and down its length suggestively. “Never seemed to me that you needed any lessons on what to do with your sword.”

He cut his eyes at me. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Mm, big words. You know I find smart men so sexy. But there’s something particularly delicious about flirting with your husband, especially when he’s been someone else all day.”

“Oh, I haven’t really been someone else,” he said breezily. “I told you once there’s a wench in every woman—well, I guess there’s a pirate in every guy. When he gets a chance to get out, he takes full advantage of it.”

It didn’t take much to read that. We both knew the night wasn’t nearly over, and not knowing the exact form it would take made the anticipation even sweeter. Of course, me being me, the energy building inside me started channeling itself into the writing lobe of my brain. “I could have the makings of a new book here. Why is the pirate chasing the wench?”

“Other than the fact that lusty pirates like to chase comely wenches?”

“Yeah, other than that. Why is this particular pirate chasing this particular wench?”

“Uh oh. You’re gettin’ that serious literary tone to your voice.” As dusk fell, he flipped up his eye patch to better see where he was driving.

“And you love it,” I retorted.

“As a matter of fact, I do, since I’m usually the beneficiary of your creativity. So, if I understand, the question is how come he’s chasin’ her through the faire.”

“I’m not sure it’d be a faire. That’d be hard to make a realistic case for in a novel plot. More likely someplace like…a castle, maybe.”

“Okay. If Red Jack and his crew plunder a castle, they’re gonna chase the wenches down. Isn’t that in their job description?”

“Snark-head.” I settled myself to think. There really might be something in this, besides keeping me from jumping Clay’s bones at the next stop light. “Whose castle, though? And why that castle? I hate stories where stuff just happens at random, so I never write ‘em. There should be a reason.”

“Hm.” He bit his lower lip in thought. One of these days I’m going to do what I keep threatening, and get him a co-writer’s credit on one of my books. He deserves it, just for being sounding board and devil’s advocate. “Her family’s castle? Maybe the pirate’s got a grudge against her daddy or something.”

“Could be. Or it could belong to a lord she’s supposed to marry. Yeah. Her family’s broke, maybe—they’re nobles but broke, and in order to get their debts taken care of they promise her to some rich son of a bitch.”

“Some rich son of a bitch.” Clay swears so rarely that even when he’s only repeating someone else’s words it startles me. “That’d be a prime subject for someone’s dislike.” I nodded, and waited for him to go on, but he pulled into our driveway in silence. He even sat quietly for a moment in the dark after he shut off the engine, instead of getting out and opening my door.

“Well?” I demanded finally. “You look like you’re popping with ideas.”

“I am.” He turned toward me, and in the faint glimmer of the street lights outside I saw him grin as if he had a dagger between his teeth. He flipped the eye patch down. “What d’ya say we practice that chasing through the castle part, and I’ll show you the rest after I catch you?” That idea had not entered into my thinking for the evening, but once it did it lit a fire in me to match the one gathering in his eyes. “Run and hide. Anywhere you want to. Except don’t go in the bedroom. I have plans for that. And no fair lockin’ doors.”

“Why not?” I pretended to protest, not very convincingly since I was grinning with excitement. “I would if a pirate were really after me.”

“Sure…if you really didn’t want him to catch you.” Our eyes locked. It was the truth; he knew it, and he knew I knew. As I dashed in the house and searched for a hiding place, I was torn, between the fun of playing hide and seek like a kid, and the certainty that the fun that would follow my inevitable capture would be all too grown-up. I could count on Clay’s brilliant and inventive mind for that! I’ve always been big on delayed gratification, though, so I crept through the house, getting close enough to our closed bedroom door to hear him inside. He was moving things around, and opening and shutting doors and drawers. Oh my God, WHAT is he gonna do to me when he catches me? A part of me almost wanted to surrender, just to find out what he had planned.

I flitted from one hideout to another, periodically checking outside the bedroom. He came and went, and when he left he locked the door behind him. Finally, consciously or unconsciously, I slipped up. I was tiptoeing down the hallway when he opened the door. I shrieked and tried to snake past him, but one long arm wrapped around my middle, pinning my arms to my sides. The other whipped around my hips, and he picked me bodily up off my feet and deposited me on my belly on the carpet. He straddled me to keep me from jumping up and running, but I wasn’t going anywhere. The anticipatory tension dissipated, and I lay on my face and burst into laughter. I was giggling so hard I couldn’t resist at all. It must have been contagious, because after a few seconds of pretend manhandling he gave up and started chuckling too. He bent over me, his forearms resting on the floor on either side of me, and we lay and laughed together.

“I think we’re both totally blowing character,” he managed after several minutes.

“Yeah—I—know,” I gasped, still giggling. I took a deep breath, let it out in a sigh and finally got a grip. “So…now that Red Jack’s caught his wench, what’s he going to do with her?”

“Take her back to his pirate ship, of course. And probably ravish her. Repeatedly.”

“Mm, I kinda hoped you’d say that.” With him on top of me I couldn’t roll over, but I wriggled a little beneath him, enough to feel that he was as eager as I was.

“She’s a feisty wench, though. Isn’t she gonna put up a fight? Can’t have that, or she’ll tip the dinghy over. He’s got to row the dinghy out to his ship, y’know. Maybe he should tie her up,” he added with a hint of frisky hope in his voice.

I pondered briefly. “Nah,” I decided. “I think she just swooned when he caught up with her.”

“She doesn’t seem like the swooning type.”

“Maybe not, and if I ever write this it may turn out differently.” I reached behind me and kneaded his thighs. “But I’m just not in the mood to be tied up tonight.”

“Ah,” he said in immediate comprehension and acceptance. I turned my head and he kissed my cheek. “One request though.” He sat up, and a moment later something soft fell and brushed across my face. I grabbed for it and caught one end. It was my gold-brown silk scarf. “I put together something really cool, but it’s mostly—sounds, and sensations. Theater of the mind stuff. Seeing would wreck the effect, at least until we get to a certain point. After that, I want you to see.”

“I’ll—“ I stopped and laughed again, quieter. “I was about to say I’ll close my eyes, but if I didn’t take that as an answer, why should you?”

“I really think you’ll like it,” he said softly, “but if you don’t want to it’s okay.”

I tugged at the scarf until he let go, then lifted the loosely rolled cloth to my eyes. I held the ends out behind my head and felt him take them. He learns way too fast—his knot was secure, but he left the blindfold loose enough that its folds completely blocked my vision. No peeking down the sides of my nose. I’d never done this before, and the sudden primacy of hearing and touch was striking, especially when the main things I heard and felt were Clay’s slightly heavy breathing and the caress of his hands across my hair and shoulders. Instant arousal! “So, why do you suppose she swooned?” he asked.

“Because I said so?”
“You’re a better writer than that.” His palms slid down me and came to rest at the small of my back. “Maybe her corset’s too tight. Hard to run for your life when you can’t get your breath.”

Now I knew what he was angling toward, and that was something I could go for. “Good point,” I agreed. “Maybe Lord SOB likes it that way. Maybe he thinks it’ll curb her feistiness.”

“Curb it? Some people are idiots.” As he undid the laces, I stretched my arms above my head and emptied my lungs. Everybody has their little quirks. Corsets happen to be one of ours. I like the support, the constant sensual embrace of the satin and steel, the breathless giddiness when they’re just a little tight…and the fact that Clay likes the way I look in them. A lot. He drew the laces in, tied them off, and moved his hands unhurriedly down my now snugly sheathed body. I let out a shivery sigh. “That’s okay?”

“Yeah.” His weight lifted from me and he nudged my hip. I rolled over and grinned up at where his face would be.

“Are you peekin’?”

“No! As if I could!” I tried to sound offended…well, I did try, sort of.

“Then what’re you grinnin’ at?”

“I’m imagining you looking down at me, and enjoying what you see.”

For a moment all was silent and still, but I could hear the smile in his voice when he spoke. “I always enjoy what I see when I look at you.” His hands closed around mine to help me to my feet. “C’mon, we’re gonna cheat a little bit.”

“Don’t you pitch me over your shoulder again. I’d hate to have to explain to your management how you threw your back out.”

“Hush.” He put his hand over my mouth. “You’re swooned, remember?” I smiled against his palm and puckered my lips in a brief kiss. Then he moved, his arm went behind my knees, and my feet left the floor again as he swept me up in his arms. I started to reach for his neck to help. “No,” he whispered hoarsely. “Don’t move. Don’t speak. Just experience.”

I grinned one more time and let myself relax into his grasp. People are always fooled by his slender body, but his strength is remarkable on all kinds of levels. He tromped down the hallway, but then he began a series of twists and turns that left me totally disoriented. I was fairly sure we were still in the house, but beyond that I was lost, the sneak. So I quit trying, and gave myself up to it.

He carried me down some steps. The only ones in our house led to the basement, but at their base I caught an odd sound—sloshing, like water—and he lay me down across something not entirely stable. My feet hung off one side, my shoulders were propped against the other, and it shifted slightly under me. I restrained the impulse to feel around, but the surface on which my hand lay had the grain of wood, confirmed when he bumped against it with a distinctive thump. He sat down in front of me, his bottom against my side, and whatever it was began to rock slowly, accompanied by more sloshing. It wasn’t hard to imagine the dinghy rowing out to the pirate ship in the dead of night. “Aye, sleep on, fair lady,” he murmured. It wasn’t quite the pirate voice from the Faire—more cultured, somehow, with a hint of Brit he’d probably picked up from all those recording sessions in London. “You’ve enough ahead of you.” He’s terrified of water, how can he be doing this? I thought and almost called out our game-stopping code word buttercup, not for myself but for him. I couldn’t let him upset himself just to entertain me! An instant later I caught myself. He could see how the illusion was made, so he couldn’t be afraid. Besides, if I had begged him not to spoil my little surprise, how much more disappointed would he be if I chickened out on this elaborate concoction of his.

I love the water, so the sensation of being afloat was almost relaxing, until Clay’s pirate-drawl boomed out with unexpected fervor. “Ahoy, you scum! Good o’ye to light me way, but pray don’t get me lady ship sunk by yer kindness!”

“Ahoy, cap’n!” I started at the unfamiliar voice. No one else was in our house, or would be, so it had to be recorded—pre-recorded, and played back over the big sound system in the basement. That rascal had planned this whole thing, well in advance; he knew I’d go for the game. Other voices chimed in now, the pirate crew praising their intrepid captain’s capture of so fine a wench. I wondered how he’d gotten them: another mystery I’d have to explore later.

A small bump jarred me, as if the dinghy had come up against the side of the ship. “Lift away!” he called, and though nothing moved I could envision sturdy seamen hauling the little boat up onto the deck. The warmth of their captain’s rump (which I wisely resisted the urge to grab) left my side, and with a stomp of boot heels on wood I was scooped up in his arms again. Another few hollow-sounding steps (how did he elicit the tone of a ship’s deck from our carpeted floor?) brought the ‘crew’ closer. They seemed all around us now, loud and cheerfully bawdy, and to my secret delight Clay chimed in almost as lecherously! What a struggle not to giggle again. Even after our years of marriage he can still surprise me, and I love him for it as I do for all that he is.

“Hands to yerselves, you band o’ weasels!” he roared at last, and the voices fell silent—he had to have practiced with this track. I was scared to imagine him doing it in a studio…”Go squabble over the plunder from foul Lord Damian all you like. Divvy it up. Here’s my portion!” The ghost crew broke out in raucous laughter. “Weigh anchor, you, and let’s head for open sea. Make merry, if you’re not on duty. I’m up to me quarters with this tasty dish, and any man o’you disturbin’ me, I’ll hang ‘im by his heels from the crow’s nest!”

The movement up the steps reoriented me—out of the basement now, and headed no doubt for the bedroom. I stirred a bit in his hold. “Stay a bit longer, fair lady…yes, you’re my portion, it’s what to do with you I must decide now.” His voice shifted again, back to that more cultured sound. Clearly Clay had something in mind for this character of his; Red Jack Clayton might be more than just another ruddy-handed buccaneer. A part of me marveled at his attention to detail, while the rest just enjoyed the fantasy.

He halted and lowered me to sit on the floor. I felt wall against my back. “Hey, buttercup,” he whispered in my ear. “Wait here, I’ll be right back. You’re not alone. I can see you from where I’ll be.”

“Did you say that so I wouldn’t cheat?” I teased.

“No,” he replied with a small huff of exasperation. “I said it so you wouldn’t be afraid.”

I could have slapped myself. What a mean thing I’d said. I reached for his voice and found his cheek; after a week’s vacation from shaving he had a respectable start on a fierce red beard. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. With all the work you’ve put into this, I wouldn’t cheat for the world now.” I moved my hand across his face and felt his lips curve when I touched them. “You know, a pirate could do worse than to steal a kiss from his unconscious captive.”

His face moved forward from my touch, and his mouth, as ripe and sweet and warm as fruit fresh off the tree, found mine. “A pirate will do worse,” he murmured. “Or better, depending on your perspective.” I giggled against his lips. “Now swoon,” he ordered. “I’ll be right back.” I settled myself against the wall as his footsteps retreated. Probably he wanted to put the finishing touches on his ‘set’, the pirate captain’s quarters.

In only a few moments I heard him return. “Let’s cheat one more time,” he said and helped me to my feet before he caught me up in his arms one more time. This time I came to rest on a strange soft surface, and felt his deft fingers undo the blindfold and remove it. Cautiously, I opened one eye; then the other popped wide open in amazement. Our bed felt unfamiliar because of a dark green drape of raw silk that covered it. The lights were off, but the room was ablaze with dozens of candles and oil lamps. Faint ocean sounds came from the direction of the window, where the curtains had been rearranged to create the impression of a porthole. The flames’ glow gave the room a rustic and exotic look, heightened by scarves and wraps draped along the walls from every available point of contact. I gasped aloud. “Oh, Clay—it’s beautiful.” The play of the firelight across the lines and planes of his face was just as breathtaking. “So are you.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, wench,” he said, but the voice was as much his as the happy smile. “And you are so breaking character.”

“Yep,” I agreed. “Unfortunate that the wench would be too busy trying to escape to admire the scenery.” I, on the other hand, had no such constraint, so I took a good minute to admire the scenery—all of it—before I bolted for the door. The pirate’s long powerful arms grabbed me; he marched me backward and pressed me back down onto the bed (berth? Bunk? Whatever) straddling me again to hold me.

“Don’t resist me, wench,” he growled. When I went still, he gave a grunt of satisfaction. “There’s a smart gal. Smarter’n I’d’ve expected Lord Damian to want in a bride. Now, what to do with you?”

‘I’m surprised you’ve not put me to the sword,” I spat, “as your verminous crew no doubt did to the poor servants!”

“Oh, not at all. My men had orders to do no one harm except in defending themselves. We gave the servants leave to depart, and so they did, en masse and with much gratitude. Several did beg of me to spare you, and so I promised them. Now what, though?” One green eye devoured the sight of me, and his fingertips groped across the tops of my breasts, thrust upward by the tightly laced corset. I tried to twist away in pretend horror, but the gasp that escaped me was anything but horrified. His legs clamped harder around me at my feigned attempt to escape, and his touch was just rough enough to be different and stoke new fire. I wondered how long I could keep this game up before I was begging for him. “Certainly I wouldn’t mind a taste of your sweetness—but I see ‘tis not to your liking.” He swung one long leg over me and stood. “Keep those fair hands where I can see them, so I need not fear perfidy from you and act accordingly. The serving folk did not know I ‘d no intention of doing you hurt, but that makes my word to them no less valid. I’d hate to break it by bruising you to defend myself from a hidden knife.”

“Your word,” I said scornfully, and tensed as if to make another run for it. “What good would the word of a pirate be?”

The pirate’s grin was not amused, although it was clear that Clay was! He enjoys the cooperative storytelling aspect of these games as much as I do—maybe more. Since telling stories is what I do for a living, I’m more used to it. “Quite good,” he replied mildly, “depending on the word, and the pirate. For example, you have my word that if you continue to make a fuss I will bind you fast, and maybe give you to my men for their entertainment, so that your usage would not be on my conscience.” Whew, now there was a pirate threat! “I think not so, though. ‘Twould lower your value too much.”

“My—value,” I said slowly, as if only now realizing my probable fate. “It’s ransom you want, then. My father cannot satisfy your greed, for he has his title but little more, thanks to my brother’s gambling.” A valid story concept, I thought, and from the narrowing of Clay’s eyes he was already wondering where I was going with this and figuring how it fit into his plans. “However, my…fiancee…is able to pay.” I said the word with a wrinkle of my nose as if it tasted rotten.

The grimace did not escape his notice. “Hah, I see you like Lord Damian no more than most. Why then would you wed him?”

“To keep my noble family out of the poorhouse,” I retorted.

“Yes,” he said thoughtfully. “I am well aware his wealth is immense—we relieved him of a goodly amount of it tonight, along with you. Much of it he obtained through means most foul. I am well aware of that as well.” The set of his unshaven jaw and the hard glitter in his eyes said he had something in mind behind those ambiguous words. “He’ll get none of it back. Nor will he get you back under any circumstances, though he offer his whole estate.” He began to pace the ‘cabin’. Clay still thinks himself awkward and ungraceful, but his booted stride was as lithe as a stalking panther. When we play I usually slip into the thought processes of my role, but it wasn’t happening this time. I was enjoying this experience far too much to trade it for the abducted bride’s anxiety! “I’ll concede that villain nothing, especially not a thing he wishes to possess, as it appears he does you. So—the slave market for you, perhaps? You’re a fine wench, a lovely one, fit and buxom; you’d fetch a good price. Or perhaps I’ll turn my rudder to the East, and sell you off to some sheik who lusts for an exotic white woman for his harem.” I shrieked, and hoped it sounded somewhat aghast—not as if I were smothering a screech of laughter. He paused to survey me as I regained my composure. “You’re not begging for your freedom,” he said. I lifted my chin, glared at him and then looked away deliberately. The wench in my skin would be too proud to beg. “I like that. I’d like better to bend you to my will, though.” I was silent. “We arrived at Lord Damian’s castle just before the evening meal, did we not? My men made short work of that roast pig. Even paid compliments and some coins to the cook as she left, I believe. But for myself, I’m famished.” He strode to the ‘porthole’ and the table below it, which I now noted held a platter heaped with fruit. From his belt he plucked a small knife and cut a wedge out of an apple. Jeez, be careful with that thing! I thought. “Mm,” he said as he crunched on it, then turned his attention to some grapes. “Grand stuff the Lord God made to satisfy our appetites. Grand stuff.” He gave me a significant look as he spoke. And a grand turn of phrase! I mentally applauded him and stored it away for future use. “You’re welcome to join me if you like.” He began to peel an orange. It did look good, but this wench wouldn’t beg for food either. “Too haughty for that, are you? ‘Tis yours for the asking, if you ask nicely enough. And keep those hands in your lap. Vain ladies have been known to secrete weaponry in their finery.”

“If the finery were of their choosing,” I replied bitterly. This wench likely wouldn’t be allowed the opportunity to stash a dagger in her bodice. I ran my hands over the tight corset, as if reflexively, then settled them glumly in my lap.

That earned me a raised eyebrow. “Indeed?” he inquired. “Then you do not tether yourself up to keep the notice of your intended?”

“Hardly. Lord Damian is pleased by my appearance thus.” I put plenty of disgust into the words. “He has set a maid on me to truss me up so, and follow me to assure I do not tamper with her work.”

He stood still, and anger flashed in his eye. It wasn’t altogether feigned—Clay does blow his stack at the idea of a woman mistreated. “No maid follows you now,” he said, his tone dangerously quiet…very sexily dangerous. “I hear it said that a corset well set is not unpleasant I would gladly assist you with that, if you wish. Oft it falls to one man to undo harm wrought by another.” The wench would be suspicious and silent, so I was. “You’ll certainly have more room for a snack, and probably more inclination. If you will turn, I will help you.”

“Hah! Turn and find yon knife in my back, more like.”

Slowly he laid the blade on the table, and then removed his belt and sword and placed them alongside it. Nice touch, sweetheart, I thought with an inward smile. His face was serious, and he held up his empty hands. “I stab no one in the back,” he said, “especially not a lady. You have my word I mean you no treachery. Have I yours?”

“A woman’s word means little to most men.”

“But not to this man.” That was true enough for Clay, and obviously he’d decided likewise for his alter ego. I eyed him with all the wariness I could summon up, then nodded curtly and rolled onto my stomach. The mattress sank on one side as he sat and began to fuss with the laces. “Quite intricate knotting.“ It wasn’t, of course, but what a good plot detail. I love his creativity on the fly. “You’re right, you’d not have been easily able to loose this alone, and never to restore it without being found out. And might I guess it would not have gone well with you, when such rebellion was found out?”

“No, it would not,” I said softly. Heaven only knew what the slimeball would have done to her to punish her defiance. I could only imagine, and didn’t particularly want to.

Clay fiddled with the laces a little more. “So cruelly tight…” he murmured, his voice just as taut. Suddenly the lacing eased, and I let out a small cry as if of relief. “Cruel no more, however. There, now, and shall I do away with this altogether?”

“Think not to unclothe me, you rogue!” I turned over quickly, and he lifted his hands with a little laugh. “Thank you,” I said after a moment, in a smaller and less hostile tone.

He inclined his head a hair in that courtly manner that sets me on fire. “My pleasure. So, will you join me in a small repast?” He returned to the table and picked up the wooden platter. “Say the word, and I shall oblige.”

She had to be hungry; and more comfortable now; and maybe just a little less distrustful. Maybe she’d bend a little. “Yes, please?”

A wide grin split his face. “Lift not a finger, fair lady, and allow me to serve you.” He sat down on the bed again and held out a grape, balancing the bowl on his lap. Cautiously, I took it in my mouth. Darn, these are good. I’ll have to remember to ask him later where he got them. Of course, everything tastes better with a little spice! After a few more, he returned to the half-peeled orange. The leisurely movements of his big hands as he freed it from its skin were hypnotic. His eyes (well, the one that showed) never released mine as he presented me with one section at a time. I licked the delicious juice from my lips and tagged his finger with my tongue. He drew a slow deep breath, and I knew he was as close as I to chucking the fantasy foreplay and going straight to the ravishing part. I was curious as to where this would end up, though, and after all this preparation and suspense Clay surely was too. Besides, as I said, I’m a big believer that most good things are better if you wait a while. And he was just too hot to look at in that getup! So I reined in my lust for a little longer.

Deliberately or not, he squeezed the next slice of orange as he held it up to my mouth. Juice dribbled cheerfully down my chin, and he intercepted it with his finger, then trailed the sticky digit farther down onto my neck. The wench was seriously falling under this handsome rascal’s spell, but not this far just yet. I yelped and pulled away. “Mind your shameless touches, you—you lickerish—“

“Huh?” The pirate was suddenly gone on a sea breeze, replaced by my baffled-looking husband. “Licorice? Like candy?”

“Oh, good grief. Now who’s breaking character? No, you nut. L-I-C-K-E-R-I-S-H. Some of your Broads would probably know it. It’s an old word for lecherous.” Clay let out a delighted laugh. “The wench was basically about to call Red Jack a horny bastard.”

A spark lit in his steady eye—either I’d given him an idea, or a new piece for one he already had. “Bastard, you call me?” He dropped back into the what’s-up-with-this-pirate voice. “You speak more rightly than you know, fair lady.” He stood and paced to the ‘porthole’, and stood with his back to me. I could imagine Red Jack debating how much to tell this woman, the promised wife of his enemy. “Know you of a certain duke who your…who Lord Damian falsely accused of treason some years past? One he saw hanged, then seized the dead man’s lands?”

Aha. “Yes,” I replied with a hint of a quiver, and went so far as to add, “Duke Richard, was he not?”

“Richard Clayton Charles Thomas Moore, to be precise.” Oh yeah. This was going places! Clay turned, and that sparkle had taken over his gaze, though his face was still as grave as the situation required. “My mother was the duke’s seamstress. His duchess did not discourage their liaison, for she could not bear him an heir. So he claimed me and raised me in the manor, and taught me all I would have to know to inherit his portion…until he and all of it were taken.” He did not look directly at me as he slowly moved across the ‘cabin’, his shadow dancing in the flickering firelight. “The duchess lost her reason altogether after his execution. My mother found a cottage in the village, with her savings from the small stipend she received. She set up her trade to earn our keep, and cared for the duchess till she died.” Naturally, Clay would tell a story of a strong and loving mother. I smiled to myself, and prayed I could be one to his children one day. “When I came of age I took service with the queen to support myself, raiding her enemies on the high seas and biding my time till vengeance presented itself.” Finally his glittering eye fixed on mine, and I gasped and covered my mouth with my hands as if in horror.

“Yes,” I said. “The news was well spread. Everyone knew the duke to be blameless, but Damian’s purchased judge rendered the verdict he was paid for. You poor lamb, how you must have suffered. But how then is your suffering lessened by inflicting more on me? Are we not both innocents? I no more asked to be his wife than you to be his victim!”

“Innocent?” he laughed harshly. “How can you call a notorious pirate innocent?” He tried to stare me down, but I would not yield. “You have a good heart,” he said at last, quietly and without the harshness. “I always knew that. When word made its way to me that Damian would wed, I thought my revenge would be flawless. But I did not know it was you.” Without relinquishing my eyes, he pulled off his head scarf and the now obviously fake eye patch. “Do you recognize me? I saw you in the marketplace, many times. You would sit and read to the peasant children, and show them words and pictures in your books. Do you recall?”

All right, my turn! I hoped my improv would mesh with whatever else he had in mind. “Yes. I saw you. I never knew your name. You seemed a handsome young noble. An old woman used to come and sell—boxes, and trinkets, her crippled son made of sticks and strings, and you passed by once and bought all they had, and paid her good gold for it too.” That should touch Clay close to his heart, and it did; I caught him trying to hold back a little grin. “I thought there’s a good man and kind. Would that the Lord would smile on me, and see that my father would wed me to one such as he!”

“Instead you got Lord Damian,” he said, his expression now sad. “But I fear I have ruined your family, if he was to pay your brother out of debtors’ prison as your bride-price.”

“Oh, no,” I assured him. “My father trusted Damian no farther than he could fling him. He loathed the thought of ‘selling me to save the family honor’ as he said, but we had no choice. He did, however, insist the debts be paid in full before ever I stepped foot in that accursed castle. So my family is safe—and my brother packed off to a monastery, no less, where his fingers will be better employed turning the pages of a Bible than turning playing cards!”

Clay was howling with laughter when I finished with a defiant toss of my head. “Your father is as wise and just a man as mine was, it would seem,” he chuckled, then sobered. “I am glad to hear they are taken care of. I would not do them ill, any more than I would you. When you fell in a faint, and I bent over you and knew your face, I—I could not believe you would join yourself to that wretch. I could not bear to believe it. It cheers my heart to hear you did not do so willingly.” I curled my lip at the thought, and pretended to spit off the side of the bed. “Please, fair lady, not on my freshly swabbed deck!” We both laughed then, and he approached the bed. “I still am faced with the question of what to do with you. I could not ransom you to him in any case, but by no means now, knowing you despise him.”

“He’d not have me now anyhow, I expect. The circumstances of my abduction would likely make me ‘damaged goods’ in his sight.”

He scowled. “So long as no such is ever said in my hearing,” he said. “If you would be free of him, alas, I think it unwise to return you to your family. But I am rich, and you more learned than most women. I can take you anywhere, and provide you with more than enough money to start a new life for yourself. You love to teach, I have seen—you might be a tutoress, or set up a school, and hire a manservant to protect you.”

For a few moments I let myself think as she would. This terrifying ordeal had suddenly become an open doorway of opportunity. She, daughter of a minor noble, condemned to a brutal imprisonment called marriage only in name, could now be anything she chose to be, anywhere she chose—Paris, Rome, anywhere. I regarded the earnest face before me, and smiled. “I must admit, I would much prefer to be protected by you.”

This laugh was gently ironic. “A pirate’s life is no place for a lady. Fear, and blood, and the risk of seeing me swing by my neck as did my father, and for far more cause—“

“No!” I cried, scrambled to my feet and flung my arms around him. “Say not such things!” I actually startled Clay a little; I felt him tense, and I pulled away. “Oh dear, I pledged to give you no reason to fear, didn’t I, and here I have. Forgive me!” I retreated to the bed and sat down. “You have bound me with my own word. Will you not loose me, Jack Clayton, and let me touch you?”

“You touched me long ago, fair lady, with your gentle beauty, and tonight with your kind words. That you can look upon me and still call me an innocent…” He sat down beside me, took my hands in his, and kissed them. This time the wench did not fight. “Yet I say again, this is no life for you.”

“And it is for you, the son of a duke?” I demanded. “You say you are rich. You have your revenge on Damian—you’ve pillaged the heart of his holdings, stolen his bride, and humiliated him, which, believe me, is the worst torture you could inflict on one as vain as he! Is this life still what you want? Do you want to grow old like this? You can start anew as readily as I. It need not even be on this continent. What of the New World to the west? ‘Tis wild and rough, I’ve heard, but beautiful as the dawn of Creation. I would love to see it. I would love better to see it with you beside me.”

His sea-colored eyes widened. “You…would do that? With me?”

“I would. I’ll miss my family, but I’d be shut up in Damian’s castle and never allowed to see them otherwise. They’ll be fearful as to my fate, but if I send word in secret that I am safe and traveling with the heir of Duke Richard they’ll be at ease. My father was a great admirer of your father, and railed at the unjustness of his doom, I recall.” I took his face in my hands. “I am so sorry for how you have been hurt.”

It was remarkable to watch him convey without a word the lowering of his guard, to see his features betray weariness, and vulnerability, and hope. I can’t wait to see Clay act, when the right part comes along, I thought, and then wondered fleetingly if this might be that part. “Perhaps so. ‘Tis time we both began afresh.” He leaned in, his lips carefully touching mine, then deepening as I welcomed them. His hands slid up my arms, returning to my neck and the tops of my breasts, this time without my resistance. Oh yeah, I thought, here comes the ravishing—and unexpectedly I felt myself move away. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t catch the realness of my sudden turmoil. “I—have not been with a man.” Damn, I lamented, did my past have to catch up with me NOW? “And the old women say it can be frightful, and we are not wed—though I suspect Damian would not have scrupled at that, after I had spent a few more nights under his roof, but—“

He caught on quickly, at least to the surface turn in the tale. “Well, well. You mean the old reptile had not yet deflowered his virgin bride?” He drew me into a warm and tender embrace. “That too gladdens my heart, dear maiden. I daresay he would not be gentle. I would—but I would not distress your conscience. Come with me, though, before you refuse me, and let me show you something.” He led me to the window. “Look out yonder porthole, and see if you spy anything besides open ocean.”

I hoped just saying the words ‘open ocean’ didn’t throw him into a tizzy! “No,” I said, “though I can’t see much for the darkness!”

“Trust me, it’s out there!” he grinned. “And I am the captain of this ship, duly sworn by the Queen herself; and as such I have certain privileges. Among those is the right to marry folk when we are at sea. The question has never arisen, but I see no reason why that should not include myself.” He turned me to face him, his gorgeous face very serious. “I would take you for my wife, if you would have a ragged pirate. I think I have loved you for a long time.”

“And I you,” I replied. We kissed for a good while, and I let my mind slide back to the time when everything about sex and love was new for me, giggling in surprise when his tongue ventured into my mouth. When he caressed my bosom, I shivered, but did not move away.

“Don’t be afraid,” he rasped. “Love is not frightful, fair maiden. I will not allow it to be so for you. It will be as near to heaven as two mortals can approach. If you still have doubt as to the wedded state—who do you suppose married Adam and Eve in Eden?”

“Why, the Lord Himself,” I exclaimed, “since there were no priests or preachers about.”

“Then before Him I swear to cleave only unto you forever,” he said. “There are preachers in that new Eden to the west, who can give to us their blessing and a document; but in my heart, if you are willing, I would wed you now.”

“Yes!” I hugged him hard. “I am willing. I would be yours, now, in every way. I know nothing, so you must teach me, my husband; but I will be a keen student, I am sure. I am a little afraid, but your touch makes me burn in ways I never knew possible.”

I hadn’t expected this to storm out of me, not at all. Obviously Clay hadn’t either, but from the smile on his face he felt up to the challenge. “Come then, my maiden wife, and let us see what else we can set afire.” He undid the first few buttons of the busk down the front of my corset, but I moved his hands gently aside and finished it myself. I laid it aside on the chair by the door, then slowly unlaced the neck of his shirt. My fingers traced down his throat to his chest. His fair skin was almost golden in the lamp-light. As our lips met again, his hands cupped my breasts through the fabric of my chemise, and I shivered again. “Does my touch displease you?”

“No, no, ‘tis very pleasing…make me shiver thus, husband, again, and again…” This wench was definitely going to be a quick study!

His grin broadened. “Husband?” he said softly. “That word from your lips is most pleasing as well.”

With his fingertips on my wrists he led my hands inside his shirt to wander over his lightly furred chest. When I discovered his nipples he caught his breath and bit his lip, and I let out a girlish squeal. “Ah! Can it be that my touch kindles your flesh as yours does mine?”

He gasped, his eyes half closed. “Ohh, your wicked innocence will be the death of me, wench.” He fumbled with the ties at my waist till my skirt fell away, leaving me only my chemise and pantaloons, and he pulled me toward the bed.

“Hold, you impetuous pirate! Here I am half unclothed, and you yet to take off your boots!” His mouth flew open as if he hadn’t expected his wench to crack a joke. Laughing, he sat down on the bed and pulled off the boots. I stood before him and slid off his vest, enjoying the smell of the leather, and then his shirt, before he pulled me down to him. We fell across the bed, and I stroked his chest and belly, relishing the crisp softness of the hair as if I had never touched a man. “Your body is so strong. I see no marks, nor scars. Plainly you’re a skilled warrior.”

“Ah yes, Red Jack is gifted with his sword.” He directed my hand over the front of his trousers, and when I encountered the mighty sword waiting there I shrieked and blushed and tittered. “Horrors, I fear I’ve embarrassed you!” he chortled.

I recovered my breath from laughing. “I dreamt, as girls do, that the act of love would be pleasurable; but I never expected it to be—well, thus! It always sounded so grave and intense a thing, not a matter for merriment.”

“If God made us to give each other pleasure, why should we not be merry?” he returned. “Besides that, if you laugh, my maiden, you are less likely to fear.” His hand slid under the hem of my chemise, but halted when it met the leg of my pantaloons. He lifted a little higher to peek beneath, and cackled. “What’s this? Is it not said the only thing a decent woman should entertain between her legs is her husband?” He had to have learned that old saw from the guys at the Faire, and it sent me into more helpless giggles. “Did Damian think by corseting you so close he would crush the spirit out of you? Hah. More the fool he, clearly, and all the better for me.” He lifted the skirt a bit higher, then paused. “Say the word before I go farther, my maiden wife. I would not have you feel forced.”

“And I do not.” My breath was as short as if the corset still bound me. “Teach me, husband.”

The chemise flew over my head and off the side of the bed. He stroked my breast, and I quivered anew with pleasure. The memory of the first time a man I loved had touched me there…the first time Clay had touched me...was suddenly as fresh as if it had just happened. “Ah,” he sighed. “Behold the cherries of paradise, as the sheiks say.” His head lowered, and he took one nipple in his mouth. I cried out at the unexpected intensity of sensation, as lightning bolts of arousal blew through me. How could imagination make so familiar an act so mind-blowing? (Not that I ever take my beloved hubby for granted, or fail to feel rapture when he touches me!) He raised his head with a grin of pure devilment. “If such a light touch excites you so, I fear you may be unable to bear the act itself!”

“Oh, don’t you think to so tantalize me, you wicked man!” I fired back. “How can I be so undone, and you not at all? Can I not thrill you too?” He regarded me steadily for a moment, and then took my outstretched hand and led me inside his pants. I took hold of him and let him guide me, with words and sounds, as if I didn’t know exactly what he likes…but hey, as I said, he’s forever full of surprises, this amazing man of mine. He’s so responsive, so expressive in his arousal as it builds, that he might well have been created to teach a virgin how to love. Well, he was, sort of, I decided. I put my free hand behind his neck and pulled his mouth down to mine, my tongue twining with his while I continued my rhythmic motion. In moments, his body stiffened and jerked, and he moaned uncontrollably into my mouth as the wet warmth of his climax spilled over my hand.

He sagged onto me, and I held him close till his breathing stabilized. “You,” he groaned, “are no wench, but a witch, intent on bespelling me!”

Wow, he managed to stay somewhat in character. “Not quite!” I chuckled. “But I confess it brought me great joy, to pleasure you so. Did that feel as good as what you were practicing upon me, I wonder?”

“Let’s find out,” he said and attacked my mouth now with his. In no time his trousers and my pantaloons were gone. His mouth traveled down me, pillaging my body, and I cried out and writhed under him, but not in opposition. The prickle of his stubble on my naked skin is a feeling I always love, but now it drove me wilder than I could recall. My entire body pounded with my need for him. He kissed over my belly, and then lower. Again he sighed. “Woman’s body is a garden of delights, ‘tis said—but I find when my heart loves, your body becomes Eden.” His face lowered, and he nuzzled the hair between my legs before his mouth began its plunder of my most precious treasures. His lips and the fine edges of his teeth tugged and sucked at my flesh, while his long mobile tongue thrust and pressed and curled within me. I ground my teeth and fought back orgasm—play acting was over, I needed his fullness inside me. Somehow he sensed my struggle. “Let go, baby,” he said. “I’ve got you. You’ll see.”

I let go, and with one more pull and stroke I came; but while I was still shaking from it he rose above me. He was already hard again. Of course, thought what was left of my brain, enter the virgin when she’s wettest; but the rationale of the story line didn’t matter a bit when he slid easily into me and began to urge me toward another climax. This time we hit that rarest of perfect timing—we came together, our cries joined as our bodies were, and fell to earth to tremble in each other’s arms.

We lay wound up in each other among the rumpled silk. I pressed my chest to his so tightly I couldn’t tell which heartbeat was his and which was mine. After a long while I whispered in his ear, “And they definitely lived happily ever after.”

Clay stirred and giggled weakly. “Definitely.” I laid tiny kisses on every inch of his smooth freckled skin I could reach without moving too much. “How come you didn’t name the wench?”

“I was waiting for you to. You were really on a naming roll there.”

“I couldn’t think of any name as beautiful as Arianne.”

Now I giggled with what breath I had regained. “How’d you do the dinghy thing?”

“That old rockin’ chair we had in the attic.”

“With the wide seat and arms! I should’ve thought of that.”

I grumbled at myself for a minute, which amused Clay. “Packed her brother off to a monastery, huh?” he snorted. “I liked that. The virgin thing was an—interesting—twist too.”

“Yeah. I didn’t see that one coming either.” We lay side by side, and I rested my head on his shoulder. “Guess my subconscious decided this was a great opportunity to make up for lost time.” He did not speak, quietly waiting, I suspected, for me to continue. I didn’t know if I wanted to, or how. “When I actually gave up my virginity, I, uh, didn’t tell him,” I admitted finally. ”So my first time kind of wasn’t a ‘first time’ sort of experience.”

“What—but—he could’ve hurt you!”

“No, he’s a gentle guy. I knew I’d be okay. I didn’t lie, I just didn’t say. I talk a good game. I just wanted him so much, more than I’d ever wanted a man; and more incredible yet, he wanted me—and you know what a funny-looking kid I was, and how I couldn’t get past that for a long time. It amazed me that he wanted me. I was scared if he knew, it might scare him off. And I was older than the average virgin, and what if he thought there was something wrong with me…” I sighed explosively. “Never mind. I’m not explaining myself very well, and there’s no need. I didn’t intend for this to get heavy. I’m sorry.”

“Did you not trust him?”

“Oh, please. Of course I did! It wasn’t about…him, it was about me. About my very low idea of myself, I guess.” I buried my face in his neck. I couldn’t look at him and lie to him “I so wanted him to be my first,” I mumbled against his skin. Or maybe I didn’t say him. I honestly wasn’t sure. Maybe I finally told the truth. Maybe I said you.

“Ari?”

“Hm?”

“Ari.”

“Mm-hm?”

“Arianne.”

“What?”

“You didn’t tell me.”

“What, that I didn’t—“

“Cut the crap, Ari, and look at me.”

I did look, and he looked decidedly unhappy. “Busted,” I said and drew a shaky breath. “I’m sorry, Clay. Please don’t be mad.”

“I’m not. A little disappointed, I guess, that you trusted me to make love to you but not to tell me you were a virgin.”

“I did trust you! I wanted you to be my first, didn’t I? It wasn’t about you, I told you. It was me. You’ve got to know by now how completely I trust you.”

He was quiet, his beautiful eyes searching mine, and fear gripped me. “Have you been trying to prove that to me all this time?”

It wasn’t the question I had anticipated, and it made me stop and seriously think. “Not to you, exactly,” I conceded. ”But maybe I’ve needed that sometimes. When I give you control, it reminds me how trustworthy you are, and it feels so reassuring. Or maybe, deeper than I know, I felt guilty.” I swallowed a lump of tears. “I was falling in love with you long before that night, and I didn’t want to lose you. I don’t want to lose you, and now I’m frightened I have…”

His arms tightened and he pulled me to him. “Baby, please, don’t be! This isn’t something that could come between us like that. I just hate thinkin’ that you felt so bad about yourself that you thought bein’ a virgin would scare me off. I loved you already too, or I wouldn’t ever have wanted to make love to you. That wasn’t gonna change. I just wish I’d known, though. I would’ve made that night so special for you.”

“Oh, you did, sweetheart!”

“But it is kind of cool to think that out of all the guys on earth, this beautiful brainy woman chose this big geek.”

His wry tone melted my cold fear. “Oh, hush! How many times do I have to remind you how fine you are? I figured if no guy ever looked at this squirrelly bookworm again, at least I’d have one glorious night with one of the sexiest men alive. Then when you asked me to marry you, the thought that my first would be my last and only—you can’t imagine how happy I was.”

“Oh, I dunno. I can imagine quite a lot.” He stroked my hair and bare back. When my tense muscles started to relax, he moved far enough to look into my face again. “I love you so much, Ari. Never doubt that.”

“I don’t. I still wonder how I deserve it, sometimes, but I never doubt it.”

“You deserve better than me, probably, but you’ve got me.” I pretended to whack him upside the head and we giggled. “I’m sorry if you thought I sounded mad. I wasn’t. I have no right. There are…things… about me I know I haven’t said to you.”

I shrugged. “By the time we’re old and gray-headed all that will come out, I imagine, except for whatever is your business and none of mine. Like…” I thought hard for a minute. “Your first time, for instance.” He flushed, and his eyes broke away from mine. “I’m not asking! That was an example of something I wouldn’t. Although,” I added mischievously, “judging from that reaction, yours left something to be desired too. Maybe I should be planning to deflower you.”

His eyes met mine decisively, though with a hint of a nervous smile. “Maybe you already did.”

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