Very wicked
1506 Words
*Linnie*
“Come on, give us a kiss.”
I'm being escorted from the dance floor by Greyfur when cousin Robbie happens by to claim the next dance, and the Alpha foolishly places me in his keeping before I can object.
Only the oaf doesn’t want a dance as he asserts but instead backs me up against the wall before slipping a sprig of mistletoe from his pocket and holding it above my head.
“I’d rather spit on you; now leave off,” I say for the third time.
He grins, “You know what they say. If you don’t kiss a bloke when you’re under the mistletoe with him, you’re destined to be an old maid.”
“Then I will be an old maid.”
My back is against the mirrored wall, and one of his beefy hands is wrapped around my arm. I don’t want to make a scene and embarrass Marsden by my presence, but it’s happening anyway, and ruining my night in the process.
“People are watching,” he says. “They expect you to play along. Other she-wolves have.”
“Other she-wolves have no self-esteem apparently.” I huff.
He narrows his eyes. “Stupid tavern wench. I’ll take more than a kiss before this night is done.”
My palm striking his cheek barely turns his head, only serves to make his mouth split into a mean-looking grin. He leans in. “I’m going to have fun with you later, but I can’t walk off now without a kiss. My reputai…”
He’s gone, slammed against the wall so hard that I feel it shake and am surprised the mirror doesn’t c***k. Stepping aside, covering my mouth with my hand, I watch with a mixture of horror and joy as Marsden pummels his fist into Robbie’s face, not once but three times. Groaning, cradling his jaw, the brute slides to the floor.
“Get anywhere near her again, and I’ll have you kicked out into the cold,” Marsden says, his voice low and vibrating with fury.
“She ain’t of quality.” He i***t spits.
Marsden balls up his fist. I place my hand on his arm, standing my ground when he directs those anger-filled eyes my way. “He’s three sheets to the wind. No harm was done.”
He holds my gaze for several heartbeats. Finally, he gives a brusque nod before looking about and signaling to two servants. “Get him to his room. Lock him in so he can sleep this off.” As the servants hoist up his cousin, Marsden releases a shuddering breath. “I’m badly in need of a drink.”
“So am I,” I say quietly.
Plastering a false grin on his face, he turns to those who have gathered around. “Entertainment’s over. Carry on.”
“Sorry, old chap,” Greyfur offers. “He said he wanted to dance with her. If I’d known…”
“You should have known. He’s an i***t. I’m taking Miss Piletree for a stroll.”
I just reach down, pick up the mistletoe sprig, and tuck it into my pocket when Marsden slips his arm around mine and begins leading me through the crowd far too quickly. “You can’t be angry at Grey,” I say.
His jaw tightens. “When a gentleman takes a she-wolf onto the dance floor, he is responsible for her reputation and well-being. He shouldn’t have abandoned you.”
“He didn’t. He was passing me off to the next chap who expressed an interest in dancing with me.”
Stopping abruptly, he glares at me. “Did you want to dance with Robbie? Did you want to be cornered by him? Did you want to kiss him?”
“No, of course not. Why do you think I smacked him?”
“Then don’t defend Grey.”
With that, we’re off again, ascending the stairs with incredible haste, and it occurs to me that he’s troubled by something more than his cousin’s abhorrent behavior. “Are you upset that I danced with Grey?”
Reaching the landing, we leave the room and start down a hallway. “You seemed to be enjoying yourself.”
“I like dancing.”
“I didn’t think you’d ever danced.”
I shake my head. “Not the way the fancy folk do, but I've danced at village festivals.”
He comes to a halt and faces me. “With whom?”
“With whomever asked. It was all in fun, Marsden. That’s what life is about. Having fun. Don’t ruin tonight by being angry.”
“Robbie could have hurt you.”
“Not likely. Had he gotten any nearer, his tender area would have been introduced to my knee.” His eyes widen; I shrug. “It’s one of the first things that the tavern owner teaches us when he hires us… how to handle a man who’s up to no good.”
He chuckles. “I would have liked to have seen that. I’m wishing now that I hadn’t interfered.”
“To be quite honest, I’m rather disappointed it didn’t get that far.”
Taking my hand, he threads his fingers through mine, as he did when we were children. I prefer it to simply placing my hand on his arm. It somehow seems more intimate, although I do wish we weren’t wearing gloves.
“The gallery is this way,” he says, escorting me down the hallway, his stride not quite as long or quick, his shoulders more relaxed.
“It must have taken centuries to collect all the little baubles in this castle.” Decorative tables, knickknacks, statuettes, flowers, and paintings are everywhere. I’d hate being the one who has to dust them all.
“I suppose. Never gave it much thought.”
We go up a short set of steps and into a wide corridor that three drays side by side could move through. One side is a wall of portraits, the other a wall of windows. Couples stand looking out on the falling snow or slowly stroll from one end to the other. No doubt courtship is at play in many cases.
“Regarding the promise you made to your mother,” I begin as we near the first painting, an elegant she-wolf sitting in a chair holding a babe while two boys stand on either side of her.
“Yes?”
I smile, “Don’t bother with miss Edith Kipwick.”
“Why ever not?”
We wander down to a vertical line of small portraits of various children. “Greyfur has an interest in her.”
He grins. “How do you know that?”
“He was asking me how best to go about wooing her.”
He chuckles low, but still, a few people turn their heads toward us. “It seems my friends may very well marry before me. Ashebury also has an interest in a she-wolf. I can’t fathom that they would fall so quickly.”
“Is there a better time of year for falling in love?”
He doesn’t reply. I don’t expect him to. He takes two flutes from a passing servant and hands me one.
“I was thinking of something a bit stronger when you said you were in need of a drink,” I tell him.
“As was I, but we must be discreet in slipping away to my library.”
“Is our presence here an effort to throw others off the scent?”
His green eyes twinkle. “Indeed.”
We are halfway along the corridor when I ask, “Are you related to all these people?”
“In one way or another.”
“Such a sour looking lot. Not a single one of them smiling.”
He grins, “One does not smile for portraits.”
“Why not?”
“It’s a serious matter. You’re leaving your likeness for future generations.”
I shake my head, “I can well understand your medieval ancestors not smiling. They probably had rotting teeth but the more recent ones… they all look doomed. If I ever sit for a portrait, I’m going to smile so those who come after will know I was happy.”
“Are you happy?” He asks.
“Of course.” I’m here with you, I almost add, but a time will come very soon when I might never see him again.
“I should like to have a miniature of you.”
I peer up at him. “That wouldn’t be wise, Marsden. It might make your mate jealous.”
He nods. “Yes, you’re right, of course. Ghastly idea.”
We’ve reached the end of the room. He glances around somewhat surreptitiously. “Step into the stairwell there and head down. I’ll catch up.”
“Are we about to do something wicked?”
He winks at me. “Very wicked indeed.”
- Writer
