Pleasure and Purpose (23 page)

growth of beard shadowed his jaw. He looked nothing like a prince's friend. Honesty drew the fabric of her gown tighter around her. "He's not here. He had some business to attend in a warehouse or some such thing. He said he didn't need me to go with him."

"You're the Handmaiden." The words sounded assessing but the man himself gave her no more than a cursory glance. "Warehouse? Not the playroom?" This lifted her chin for a reason she didn't want to dissect. "No. His warehouse. Where the fabrics are kept."

"Ah. Your mercy," Alaric repeated. "I'm overweary at the moment and not flunking straight. My tongue leaps ahead of my mind. Of course he wouldn't be going to his playroom . . ."

"Sit down," Honesty said as she watched him sway. "Before you fall. Are you ill, sir?"

"No." He shook his head and put a hand over his heart. "Not with anything a medicus can cure, at any rate. Please tell Cillian I stopped by and please tell him . . . simply tell him ... I am . . . uncollared."

"You should sit," she told him again, but he waved her off.

"No. I can't, really. I can't stay. Not with you here. No offense meant," he added as an afterthought, which meant she probably should be offended.

"I'll tell him you were here."

Alaric, who might have been handsome without the dark rings beneath his eyes and pallor of his skin, bared his teeth in a smile that set her back a step. His gaze skittered over the piles of clothes on the floor, then up over her body. She'd had men look her over many times, but never one whose eyes traveled over her from head to toe without pausing to assess her. Alaric looked at her, but he didn't see her. He didn't seem to see anything.

"Thank you," he said and gave a clumsy bow as he backed toward the door.

"Wait—" But he was already gone, and Honesty went to the door to stare after him. He walked as though the hall were on a ship, listing to the left and right, and his hand went out to the wall to steady himself. She watched him until he'd rounded the corner and then she went inside and shut the door. It was easy for her to see when someone needed succor, and it was as easy for her to accept she might not be the one to provide it. But she did make note to tell Cillian of his friend's all too apparent distress. The blue gown instead of the green, she thought, staring at the floor. It would go with her eyes and make her lovely in Cillian's gaze. And she wanted to look so, to be more than the Handmaiden he'd paid for. She wanted to be a woman to him tonight, and in that gown she just might be.

She'd put on the dress and fixed her hair to let it fall about her shoulders in soft, loose curls instead of the tight braid she most often wore. She'd applied cosmetic to her lips and eyes. She had no jewelry and made due with a flower plucked from a bouquet in a vase from the hall.

And, she Waited.

On her knees, one hand cradled in the palm of the other. She could and had held that position for hours in the past, as comfortable to her as sleep, but that wasn't why she did it. She knew it would please him to see her on her knees for him. She hadn't forgotten the playroom. Cillian had never asked her to visit it and as far as she knew, he'd been absent from it for a while, as well. But that didn't mean he didn't want what went on inside it, so even though she couldn't bring herself to offer herself in that manner, she could do this. The look he gave her when he returned was worth every effort, and Honesty found her heart beating faster at the way Cillian's mouth parted with words unspoken. He gestured at her to rise.

She did, twirling slowly to allow the hem of her gown to float around her ankles. "You approve?"

"Of course I approve. I bought that fabric and had that gown made, just for you."

"And to think, knowing exactly what another needs is supposed to be my duty," she teased.

Cillian's gaze brightened and his tongue slid along his lower lip. "I didn't know it would suit you so well, but I'm pleased it does."

"And if it hadn't?" She asked, curious.

He looked away for a moment before bringing the intensity of his gaze back to hers.

"You'd have worn it anyway, should I have deemed it appropriate. Yes?"

"Yes, of course. If I'd deemed it necessary to appease you." Honesty tilted her head to look him up and down. "But that's not what you mean. Is it?"

"No." He shook his head.

She stood on her toes to bring her eyes, and her mouth, level with his. "Fortunately for us both, it suits me perfectly."

He put his hands on her hips tight enough to keep her still but not hard enough to wrinkle the dress. "Is this what you think I need?"

She brushed her lips over his and stepped back. "Everyone needs affection. It would seem to me you lack it, Cillian, despite your hareem."

He laughed derisively. "Which I've not visited in near two weeks, because of you." Honesty dimpled. "Am I to blame if you're kept so busy in your own bed you don't need to seek the company of those other women? After all, it's not my sole function but one I am willing to provide. And enjoy."

She watched him carefully, aware her tone had been light and teasing but the emotion behind it deeper. But Cillian couldn't know that and wouldn't know that, if she could help it. He didn't need to know she had any motivation beyond duty.

His hand cupped her neck and brought her closer, his mouth slanting over hers but not kissing. Her breath quickened at the suddenness of his action, more forceful than he'd been with her. Cillian drew her closer, body to body.

"You wouldn't enjoy the games I crave, Honesty."

Her breath hitched and her eyes fluttered closed. "I told you before, if I have to offer my back to you—"

"If you believe I need it for solace. As part of your duty, yes. But not because you want it. Not because the sting of my palm on your skin gets you wet."

"And yet you come to your bed each night and make love to me, nevertheless. You've not been to your playroom for days and days." Some time ago she might have kept the triumph from her voice but couldn't, now. "Perhaps the games you crave are not as necessary as you thought."

His fingertips twitched against her skin, and he withdrew with a small smile. "Some are born to a taste they might acquire only later, Honesty. Some can be led to it." Her heart trip-trapped in her breast at the thought of the iron-wood cross. "Some never learn to crave those sorts of games."

"I know it." He reached to tug the curl hanging over her shoulder. "Which is why I haven't made you go to the playroom. The women of my hareem were chosen, as you said in the beginning, to serve me that way. But you are not. I take no pleasure in forcing a lover to a different sort of kiss, no matter what might be said of me. I've never forced anyone."

"I didn't believe it of you," she said quietly, and noted the speculative look he gave her. Tension spiraled between them as tightly as a ribbon wound upon a finger. Clothed, they might well have been naked, so fiercely did her body feel every brush of his against hers. Lust she'd felt aplenty, but this went beyond that. This was different, no matter how she might resist it.

"When I was young," she told him as she took his hand between hers, "I was betrothed to a man much older than I. It was for the benefit of my father, not myself, but that was no more than I had been raised to expect."

Cillian's fingers squeezed hers. "I knew it. I knew you were of noble birth." Not merely noble, but Honesty didn't correct him. "I didn't want to wed him, though it displeased my father for me to say so. My father loved me, but he needed me to obey him without question. My betrothed was a man much the same but without a loving hand to temper the desire."

His breath hitched and a flash of excitement lit his eyes, a gleam she didn't miss. "Did he beat you?"

"No, my prince, no matter how the thought might excite you. He didn't raise a hand to me in anger. Nor in pleasure," she added. "Though he would have had me on my knees, his was a clerics cock. How he hoped to get a child on me, I don't know. The marriage seemed without worth to me. To be wedded and never bedded, or at least bedded unsatisfactorily?"

Cillian's thumb passed along her palm and she shivered at the soft touch. "Indeed."

"Anyway, my story, unlike my betrothal, does have a point." Honesty swallowed and licked her mouth, suddenly dry. She looked into his eyes and marveled at how clear such a gaze could be between two who barely knew each other's heart. "My point is that though that man tried his best to subdue me, I would not bend to him. However, had he tried to know even the least small piece of me, I'd have done my best to learn what brought him pleasure."

"Had you wed him."

"Yes."

"Even though you didn't love him."

She shook her head. "I did not love him, no. But I knew what was best for my father might well be best for me. And I couldn't have waited for love, in any case. I had to be married."

He blinked and stepped away from her, leaving her hands chill in the absence of his heat.

"Surely it didn't mean so much."

It had meant everything, but telling him she'd once worn a crown richer than his own would serve her no purpose. "You're not listening to my tale, Cillian. You hear my words but you misunderstand me."

He turned from the window, an eyebrow raised. "Do I? Perhaps you should be clearer."

"I would have done what pleased him, and I wasn't a Handmaiden then, bound to serve. If he'd only tried to know me, I'd have tried to know him, too."

"You would bend your back to my pleasure, you've said so," Cillian murmured, coming closer. "But what say you now?"

"I might be unable to learn to love the touch of a lash, but that doesn't mean I couldn't learn to play your games. There are more versions than just that one." She paused. "I've seen much in my time of service. And no, I wouldn't seek an ironwood cross and the back of your hand. But there are other pleasures. You would know them better than I."

"And again it is I who must serve you. Is that the way this is to go?" He paused, voice not risen in anger though his words might sound cross. "Is that what I need, Honesty?" She lifted her chin and slicked her lips again, conscious of the way his gaze followed the movement. "I think so, yes. I can give you what you want before you want it, but if you don't feel worthy when you have it, my effort is wasted. You should woo me a little, Cillian. Convince me."

He took a step back, almost a stumble. The window seat caught the back of his knees and he sat, hard. One hand came up to cover his eyes. "You would have me love you, in the end. And then what? Then you leave me, yes?"

Her heart leaped but she kept her voice steady. "It seems to me you might benefit from loving."

"All I have ever done is love, over and over, and been turned aside," Cillian told her. "I am of little mind to try again."

She moved closer. "I didn't want to marry that man, so I did what I should never have done. I took a lover. I disgraced my family and my father's name. I bore a son my betrothed claimed as his own so as not to break the tie that would bind him to my family, and I was banished from my home as though I'd died. I do believe I know the penalties of love."

"You did love him? The father of your child?"

"Oh, yes. In the way a young women does with the first man to hold her heart in his hand. I loved him enough to bear his child rather than ending it in my womb. And I loved him enough not to insist on naming him the father, though everyone knew it was him and my so doing might have saved me even as it ruined him."

"So you went to the Order instead."

"Oh, yes." She smiled, stepping closer. "And there I served well, for a time. A longer time than ever I'd have thought I could find within myself. But now. . . I'm tired, Cillian. I would go home. See my child, who won't know me as his mother. I would finish my service to you, if you'll allow it, and not by failure."

It was his turn to swallow and he looked away from her, to the floor. "Honesty. I would have you grant me solace, I swear by the Arrow, I want it. I sent for you hoping . . . well, hoping you'd give it to me. But what you ask, I'm uncertain I can grant it. I crave what I crave, as I have ever done, but knowing you don't want to bend to me in that manner does nothing to fulfill me. And all the rest you provide, your good humor, the touch of your hand, the pleasure of your body—"

"You are too empty a man to be filled by any one person, I'd wager," Honesty broke in before he could say more. "But let me try. You will get what you need and I will, too."

"What shall I do, then?" He quirked a grin at her that set her more at ease.

"As I said, there are other variations." She grinned, too. "I think it would not please you for me to be the one to name them."

"And how should I know if you approve?"

"We shall have to learn together," Honesty told him. "Tell me about the playroom."

"No." He shook his head again, but when he tried to pull away, her hand caught him.

"Tell me. You might think you can shock me, or disgust me. But you can't, Cillian. Believe me, I've seen and done more than you can imagine."

"I can imagine a great deal, Honesty."

She drew him closer with a gentle hand. "It would seem we are well matched." He let her move him until they stood, bodies touching. The caress of his breath passed over her cheek and he took her into his arms. His face found the curve of her shoulder. His lips pressed her flesh, warmth on warmth.

"It helps," he whispered. "It helps me forget." She put her arms around him to hold him closer. "Forget what?"

"All they would have me remember." Cillian closed his eyes but opened them in a moment to look deeply into hers.

"Then if what you need is to forget, I'll help you do it." She pressed his fingertips to her lips.

"Well," Cillian said with a tilting, shifting smile, "you can try." Stop squirming." Honesty made to adjust Cillian's cravat, but he pushed away her hand.

"Fine. Do it yourself."

He stared into the mirror with a scowl and tugged the fabric looser at his throat. "A man should know how to dress himself properly, not rely on anyone to do it for him even if he has the means to have someone attend him so."