Maybe it was those soft lips or soft words that had moved her. It certainly hadn't been love. They had only known each other for a few short weeks, and she had been very careful not to care too much for him; though she did enjoy his fingers on her skin, his sweet words whispered in her ear. His hands had traced paths from her eyebrows to her earlobes, down to collarbones and ticklish elbows, to the tender hollow between hip and thigh, and his mouth followed and she was lost. But she had kept firm hold of her heart all that time, remembering her last infatuation, and how miserably it had ended.
Oh, there had been a moment, in Matthew's bed, when he had gazed into her eyes and called her 'blithe spirit', and kissed her hand -- a moment when she had felt like a lady after all, with her knight by her side...but she was certainly not blithe right now. Blithe indeed! She'd show Matthew blithe if she got her hands on him -- but that would be difficult. He'd disappeared into the crowd, the fatuous fathead, following a flash of red skirt and murmuring some excuse about assuaging his thirst with a mug of mead. He'd disappeared before she could catch at that white-sleeved arm, and Jane knew exactly what he was assuaging, somewhere in a haystack no doubt with red skirts above his head. She'd waited and waited, but it had been over an hour and he hadn't returned. She'd like to strangle him.
What made it worse, worst, was that she knew he hadn't meant to hurt her. There was no guile in him -- he was like an innocent. An addlepated idiotic innocent, a credulous fool who believed every skirt that winked his way. Sincerity in his every breath -- if only he possessed constancy as well! Jane's throat constricted, as she admitted silently to herself that perhaps she'd been a little fond of him after all...she'd had hopes. But no, she'd done it again, picked a man who'd only stomp on her heart once he had it. Well, she was done with them. Done with the whole lot of them, and the next one who had the egregious bad taste to accost her was going to find himself in very hot water, indeed!
The constriction in her throat had grown, and tears trembled in her eyes, on the verge of falling. Jane struggled for control, determined not to fall apart here, in the midst of a celebrating crowd. She had almost mastered herself, when a gentle hand plucked at her sleeve, and a kind voice said, "Milady? Is there aught that ails thee? May I perhaps ameliorate thy distress?" The kindness undid her, all at once, and the tears broke free. At the same moment, fury rose in her -- it was the voice's fault, all its fault that she had started to cry! Worst of all, it was a male voice, undoubtedly some Faire worker out to seduce the innocent little mundane girl, to get some easy sex, indulge in 'harmless hedonism' as little red skirt was undoubtedly doing with Matthew in a fucking haystack -- Jane's control broke completely, and she swung out blindly, her eyes drenched in tears and her fist connecting solidly with someone's face as she shouted, "Bastard!"
A splash of water suddenly drenched her skirt, and a stunned silence fell around her. Janet blinked wildly, wondering what she'd done, as a titter ran through the surrounding crowd. An old woman selling pickles from a barrel laughed out loud. "Eh, Patrick, there's a bit o' skirt that ain't quite so quick to believe your blandishments! Maybe you'd best find a more credulous catch!" A nearby dancer chimed in, "If he'd only moved a bit quicker he'd have missed her fist -- that'll teach him to be less lethargic. Guess all those stories of how adept Patrick is with ladies were apocryphal after all. This'll make a fine tale for fireside!"
Ripples of laughter spread through the crowd, louder now, their momentary concern assuaged by the quick wit of the two Faire workers. Jane was grateful to them for defusing the scene, and she gazed apologetically at the young man who sat before her, half in and half out of a water trough, with a furious blush creeping up his dark face. He was dressed in a simple white shirt, open to the waist, identical to the one Matthew had worn (and indeed, as most other men at Faire wore as wel). Green velvet leggings sheathed muscled legs, and a broad hat with a long green feather sat jauntily on his head. The hat and his boots, which dangled over the side of the trough, were the only parts of him that remained dry. Jane reached out a hand to help him out, speechless with embarrassment as she realized what she'd done. Patrick hesitated a moment, looking as if he'd like to spit on her hand, then with visible effort calmed his face and reached out to take it.
She pulled him out, and as she did he said, in a loud, carrying voice..."Pardon, my lady. Had I known ye were so irascible of temperament, I would have been a bit more cautious in my approach. I see I must seek my pleasure elsewhere this day -- may the Faire bring thee better joy than I have brought thee." The crowd tittered again, no doubt thinking the entire scene had been staged for their amusement, as so many were. Patrick had said his pretty speech with apparent joviality and a broad smile, but as he bent into an elaborate bow, Jane saw that his face had gone rigid again. At that moment a juggler came by, with five knives flashing. The pickle woman began hawking her wares again, and the other spun into a dance around the shining knives. The crowd's fickle attention was caught again, and swirled around the pair and away. Within seconds they were surrounded by an entirely new selection of Faire goers and Faire workers, and it was almost as if the incident had never occurred.
Almost, and if Jane hadn't acted quickly, Patrick would no doubt have slipped away into the crowd and disappeared, much as Matthew had, though with rather different motivations. As he turned though, she caught at his arm, and held firmly as he attempted to pull away. Finally he sighed, and turned back to her. "Milady, may I give you some advice? If you wish to scream at me again, I cannot stop you, and as the customer is generally right, I will even play along. But if you desire to cause another scene, pray call me 'knave' or 'varlet' or 'rogue', not 'bastard'. This is a *family* faire, after all." His voice was bitter, and Janet felt her throat tighten again, this time constricting with guilt rather than tears. It had been totally unfair of her to take out her anger with Matthew on this stranger, and she hoped he'd give her a chance to apologize. "Oh, please..." she said. "I'm so sorry...let me explain..." Jane wanted to continue, but paused instead, waiting for his response.
Patrick gazed at her doubtfully a long moment. "Do you promise to quell any incipient urges to bash my poor noggin?" Jane nodded eagerly, and he held out an arm, "If you would accompany me then, milady?" and Jane took it, awkwardly. He adjusted her hand on her arm, and then led her down a crowded lane and into a pewter shop. The shop was crowded with dragons and fairies, swords and stones and impossible ships that would sink beneath their own weight were they ever placed in water. "I'll be in back, Kathryn," he said to the buxon blonde they passed, as he led Jane through a curtain and into another world.
It was a modern workroom, filled with steel tools and modern gizmos. Current magazines lay open on a low table, and a wide papasan chair sat propped against a wall. Every flat surface was crowded with pewter figurines, and Patrick laughed suddenly at the stunned expression on Jane's face. "Welcome to Patrick's Pewter -- Prolific Patrick's Pewter as the locals fondly term it. I'm a bit of a workaholic -- I tend to turn out a lot of material." Jane picked up a mermaid no bigger than her forefinger, impressed by the detail she found. "It's lovely," she said quietly.
"I'm glad you like it," Patrick replied. "It's a new piece, and I'm fond of it. Jane gazed at it a long moment, then put it down hastily, embarrassed. She stared at the dirt floor as she mumbled, "I'm sorry...you don't even know my name. I'm Jane, and I'm so very sorry about earlier." She raised her eyes, to his face, and Jane saw now that Patrick's cheekbone was badly bruised, which reminded her of her own hand. It had been throbbing for quite some time, but she hadn't noticed it in all the commotion. She raised it to look at it...and Patrick exclaimed. "You're bleeding!"
Her knuckles were indeed cut open, and Patrick hastily reached for a strip of cloth to bind them up with. The piece he grabbed was a green silk, and Jane tried to stop him, "Oh, that's much too lovely to stain..." but he continued to wrap determinedly. "Silk's a dime a dozen at the Faire...and it matches your eyes, lady." He was being kind again, and Jane's eyes suddenly filled again. "Why...why..." she stuttered, "why are you being so nice to me?"
Patrick looked up at her, brown eyes vaguely puzzled. "You know, I don't know. 'Chivalry' would be the easy answer -- but I'm afraid you've strained the bounds of my chivalry, at least. You just looked so unhappy...I suppose I've always wanted to rescue a lady in distress." He smiled gently at her. "Want to talk about it?" He had finished with her hand and tied off the strip of silk. Now he led her to the broad papasan chair and sat her down beside him.
It took a few tries, but eventually Jane managed to tell him her story. She managed to choke back most of the tears, but a few slipped out. When she finished, she was angry again, but more at herself than at Matthew. She absolutely despised crying, especially in public. Patrick was silent, and when she finally turned to look at him, she was startled to see the anger in his eyes. She had somehow thought that once she explained, he'd understand...but maybe she had expected too much. She had treated him egregiously, after all -- she couldn't blame him for being somewhat irascible after a totally undeserved fist in the face. Shame flooded through her, and she started to rise, but Patrick put out a hand and caught hers.
He looked puzzled again for a moment, then understanding dawned. "You don't think I'm mad at you, do you?" Jane nodded, her face flushed. "Ah no, sweet Janet. My anger is entirely for that dilatory rogue who treated you so poorly. To leave you standing there, for over an hour and goddess knows how much longer...well, I can't blame you for being a bit acerbic in your manner. I imagine you weren't feeling very kindly inclined towards men -- and no doubt you took me for the amorous sort."
Jane nodded, totally embarrassed now. She couldn't look at Patrick, who was being so very kind to her...then he took her chin gently in his hand, and tipped it up to look into her eyes. "...ah, don't feel too guilty, sweeting. You are very lovely, and I must admit that my motives were perhaps not entirely chivalrous in offering to come to your aid. I hope you won't hold it too much against me -- is it my fault that I am not impervious to your charms -- even when you've been weeping?" He was smiling now, teasing her, and Jane smiled tremulously back. Patrick hesitated a moment, then leaned in slowly, giving her ample time to pull away. She did not, and he gently pressed a kiss on her lips.
He had perhaps meant it as simple reassurance, but it quickly turned to something else. Within moments they were kissing hotly, wetly, tongues entwined. Patrick's right hand still enclosed Jane's chin, but his left now pulled her close. Her arms had somehow entangled themselves in his long brown hair, and her left leg slid up his thigh to wrap around his buttocks, pressing his hips against hers. Patrick's right hand slipped down to attempt her breasts, but they were securely guarded by the constricting stays of her bodice. It took both hands to undo the lacing, but his fingers were quite adept. There was indeed no sign of the lethargy of which the dancer had accused him, and it seemed but one breath to the next before Jane's bodice had fallen to the floor and her blouse followed soon after.
She had dressed as Matthew instructed, and so her breasts were bare beneath the blouse. Jane had been nervous about the costume, but was glad of it now, as Patrick's mouth quickly dipped to taste each breast. At first his tongue flicked out, like a hummingbird tasting honey, tormenting her nipples -- then he began to suck on one, while his fingers teased the other. Jane gasped, and Patrick quickly lifted a hand to her mouth, covering it. "Shhh...there are clients just through the curtain." Then he returned his mouth to her breast and Jane bit her lip as she muffled her moans.
Her hips rose and fell beneath his as they stretched out across the papasan, thrusting urgently. Jane's hands were braced on his shoulders now, fingers digging into Patrick's back, urging him closer and closer. He moaned in frustration, and he raised his head, "Lady, I'd like to be more patient, but honestly, you're driving me mad. I don't want to wait any longer..."
"So don't," Jane said, smiling.
Patrick paused a moment, searching her face. Whatever he was looking for, he must have found it, because he quickly reached down to unfasten his breeches. He pushed up her long skirts, and grinned when he found nothing beneath them but Jane. He was soon sliding into her, their hips fitting together perfectly. Jane's breasts pressed against his open shirt, soft against the rough cloth and triangle of smooth dark skin. Back and forth, in and out, they moved together in a surprisingly perfect harmony, their moans muffled in each other's skin and the gentle creaking of the papasan drowned in the cheerful banter of the crowds in the street. Jane lost all track of time, but it seemed a sweet eternity before Patrick came inside her, his shuddering triggering her own, a seemingly endless ecstasy.
Jane sighed, exhausted, yet replete. They lay there an endless time, and then he began to grow heavy. She made a small noise and he shifted, instinctively knowing what she wanted. At one point in the shifting they almost tumbled out of the unsteady chair, but Patrick adroitly recovered, and soon he was cradling her. Jane smiled contentedly as she rested her head on Patrick's shoulder and traced small patterns on his damp chest. 'Blithe', she thought, was not such a bad word to describe her current mood. If only Matthew could see her now, he would surely regret following that red-skirted wench. Though perhaps it was just as well. "Well, I see the tales they tell of you aren't so apocryphal after all. You have a lovely body, my lord. It is well suited to such amorous dalliance." Jane blushed as she said the words, and Patrick smiled gently.
"And if I told you how much I liked your body, sweet Janet, would I sound as fatuous a fool as that Matthew of yours?"
"He's not 'my Matthew' -- not anymore." Jane smiled. "And no, you wouldn't sound foolish. A bit redundant, perhaps. You've already made it very clear that you liked my body." The words fell a little flatter than she'd intended. The thought had crept unbidden into her mind that perhaps her body was all he'd liked; he barely knew her, after all. Maybe she was just a quick tumble to him. She could hardly blame him, if so; she'd certainly jumped him quickly enough. Still, the thought hurt, more than it should.
"Sad again, lady?" Somehow he had known, though he could hardly have seen her face from his present position. His arms tightened briefly around her. "I see that relieving your distress will not be a simple task. 'Tis lucky for you that I'm a hard worker."
"Not tired yet?" Jane meant the words to be light, but her distress leaked through. She couldn't bring herself to ask what she wanted to, but Patrick seemed to know.
"No promises, milady -- I can but try." His hands gently caressed her bare arm, sending shivers through her.
Jane wanted to let it go at that, but something in her needed more reassurance. She lifted up on one elbow to ask him, "Can it work? A lord and a mundane?"
Patrick smiled up at her. "I'm only a lord a few weekends of the year, and I suspect there is very little mundane about you, lady. I must admit that I'm looking forward to finding what there is -- and hopefully taking a little longer over it this time." His hand crept behind her neck, and pulled her down for a kiss...long and slow this time, rather than fevered. Jane was pleased to find that kissing him was just as delightful as it had been before, if somewhat different. She pulled away, meaning to ask something else, but his smiling eyes drove away all thought, and with a little sigh she surrendered to kisses.
*****
M.A. Mohanraj
January 13, 1996
acerbic, adept, ameliorate, apocryphal, assuage, blithe, constrict, credulous, dilatory, egregious, fatuous, guile, hedonism, impervious, incipient, irascible, lethargy, mundane, prolific, redundant.
Note: apocryphal was the hardest!