Chapter 99 - Colonel Charmer:
Major Bordon lay as still as the grave, bleary blue eyes staring up at his wife.
"Is there anything I can get you?" Cilla asked awkwardly.
"Why have you come?" He asked in return. Cilla spent most of her days elsewhere, he never knew where. All he knew was that she was rarely in the chamber with him, except at night, for she had to sleep some place.
After pondering Richard's question, she decided to tell him the simple truth.
"You and I know this marriage is a farce," she said. "But others aren't supposed to. I don't want anyone thinking it odd that I did not spend much time tending you. Or commenting that I spend more time at Colonel Tarleton's bedside, tending him, than I do you. And so I'm here..." She shrugged.
"You do, do you?" Bordon asked, arching a surprised eyebrow. He was not entirely certain how he felt about that. While he was certainly not jealous, not even slightly, it would not do to have people begin gossiping. He certainly did not want people suggesting that Cilla and Banastre were having an affair. Then again, Banastre did need a woman tending him, and who better than Cilla? Especially now the other women were gone. He decided to let it go, certain that when Banastre was recovered, he would have no further need of Cilla and no gossip would come of it.
"And so you've come here to keep up appearances?" He guessed. She shrugged again. "Well, no. There is nothing you can get me. If you intend to play the dutiful wife, then it would be best if you spent equal time with me as you do with Colonel Tarleton, to stop tongues from flapping. I suggest you bring sewing or a book to occupy yourself next time."
"So we don't have to talk?" She scoffed derisively, there was not a trace of humour in it. "Yes, I quite like that idea."
Bordon decided to let the comment pass.
"How are you?" He asked her solicitously.
"You care, do you?" She shot back.
"Always ready to attack," he shook his head. "I'm too tired and too bloody sick for it, Cilla. I have been concerned for you, whether you choose to believe it or not."
She studied him closely and at length, she realised he was speaking truthfully, he had been worried for her. The understanding did nothing to ease her immense dislike for him, nor did it soothe her fury over past wrongs. She wondered if it would always be this way. She could not imagine the day when she would not despise him, nor could she imagine her anger ever ebbing.
This is why clergymen council toward forgiveness, she thought. Fury and hatred like this can eat a person until there is nothing left of them.
Her own Reverend had droned on and on the subject for hours at a time, whenever a dispute arose amongst his parishioners. He had even gone so far as to intimate that it was sin, to not forgive a person who had wronged or hurt you. For didn't Their Great Lord Above forgive those of his flock, when they passed on and went to heaven? If you expect your own sins to be forgiven by God, shouldn't you be prepared to forgive others, theirs against you? But after the horrible things Bordon had done to her, how could she ever forgive? How could she put aside her fury, how could she stop despising him? Would there be nothing left of her then, if she did not stop?
Another sin she was committing - this despising of her husband... Hadn't she sworn to cherish, honour and respect him? Before God, she had said those words, though they were not from the heart. Surely that alone made the oaths void - she had been forced to say them after all. Circumstances had forced her - her uncle had forced her. She wished she could get council from a clergyman she trusted... But Reverend Premmon was of the British Legion. Perhaps she could devise a way to see Reverend Oliver? Surely Patriots here about's would know where he was, and would tell her. But then she would have to tell him all of the horrid details of what had happened to her, the full truth and that, she did not believe she could bring herself to do. She could not even tell Beth, left alone a Reverend she barely knew.
It was strange to her, the discovery that her husband did not despise her, as she did him. She could feel his eyes on her, his stare was piercing.
"I'm well," she said finally.
"You're not," he snorted softly.
"I'm recovering slowly," she frowned, unsure of his meaning. "And I tire easily. I don't feel like sleeping as much as I did, I can keep down food, I don't constantly feel as though I'll faint... I'm much better than I was."
"That's not what I meant," his lips tightened as he stared up at her. He seemed to be gathering himself for something and after another moment, he said, "I'm sorry, Cilla."
"Oh," she said, understanding now. "It's not your fault the baby is gone," she gazed out the window with a far away expression. The plantation fields expanded before her eyes, she could see men in the fields - Benjamin Martin's people and those of Charlotte Selton who had remained. They looked like small spots dotting the landscape as they toiled away, harvesting tobacco and the other crops. There were not many signs of the British encampment on this side of the house. The occasional soldier, standing sentry. One coming out of a cabin, others standing about, flirting with the maids. At length, she continued softly, "I took sick... It's not unusual for pregnant women to lose their babes when they take sick." She could not meet his eyes, he had no right to be so sympathetic! If she began to cry now, would he try to soothe her? She could not abide the thought, and nor could she dismiss the possibility. He'd confessed to caring and she imagined him putting his arms around her... No, she would not have it. She would not cry, not if it meant he would touch her!
"I know you're distraught," he said softly, and she heard that damned sympathy. "I know you are grieving."
She hung her head, her moist eyes on the bed clothes where they reached the floor. Her fingers wound together in her lap, her knuckles white.
"There's something I wish for you to ponder, Cilla," he said gently.
"Oh?" She arched an eyebrow, trying like hell to distance herself from her grief. Trying to embrace anger instead. She would not cry now!
"This baby... It was the only thing we had to bring us together, you and I," he said, his voice growing grave. "We are going to be together, for the rest of our lives," he said as though that were the worst thing possible. His voice seemed to reflect her own feelings. "For the rest of our lives, Cilla," he repeated with strong emphasis. She cocked her head to one side, trying to discern what he was trying to bring himself to say. Suddenly, her breath caught as understanding hit her like a hammer blow.
"You want to try again!" She accused, voice shrill.
"I made promises," he said, voice firm. "I renounced my authority and right as a husband. But we already had a baby growing - it never occurred to me we'd be faced with this situation. You were already carrying my child and I thought there was no need for us to... Be together as man and wife... To couple," he said. "I don't want to break my promise, Cilla. But now..."
"You'll rape me again?" She breathed, her eyes widening.
"I would not hurt you again," he said gently. "Coupling doesn't have to hurt, some people even do it for enjoyment."
"Do you think I could ever enjoy it with you?" She asked, stunned.
"I… I suppose not," he said. "But Cilla, even if you get no enjoyment from it, I would make certain you would find no discomfort, either. You wanted this baby, I know you did," he said, forthright, prodding her with his words.
"It was the only thing that might have made this marriage tolerable," she admitted, surprising herself. She had not expected to confide any such thing to him.
"For me too," he agreed and she lifted her chin, feeling a little offended by the remark. "You know that Mrs. Farshaw is going to bear me a child. Do you want for your husband's only child to be the one his mistress provided?"
Cilla drew herself up, her eyes so wide, the whites showed around the brown.
"I didn't think so, it would be a matter of pride, I think," he said. He continued, painting a dreary picture for their future, "but even without that. Can you imagine it, Cilla? Just you and I. For the rest of our lives! Could you tolerate it? Us not having our own children? Could you imagine it? For I surely can't..." She lowered her eyes. "Just think on it, would you? I wouldn't hurt you again, you know, during," he said earnestly. He closed his eyes, sighing heavily. He was utterly exhausted, completely wrung out and feeling dreadfully sorry for himself. Confused and conflicted too. What was he thinking? Making such a proposal to Cilla… Harmony would have his balls!
"Just think on it?" She repeated, eyebrow arched. "Are you giving me a choice then?"
He was silent for so long, she thought perhaps he had not heard her. When there was still no reply forthcoming, she was certain he'd fallen asleep. She had barely been able to keep her own eyes open when she was at her sickest.
"I'm not going to force myself on you," he said finally. The suddenness of his voice, when she'd thought he'd fallen to sleep, startled her. "But nor am I going to have a childless marriage. I am giving you the opportunity, to see things as I do, to come to terms with what what we both know must be done, if we are to avoid such an unhappy fate." All resolve now, he opened his eyes, met hers. "I doubt it would take longer than fifteen minutes - such a short time, to secure some happiness in our future. Fifteen minutes of intimacy, that our house might be filled with a child's laughter. And maybe we'll only have to lie together the once, and we'll have made that child," that was how it had happened the last time - he'd only spilled his seed inside her once for a child to be conceived. "Either way, you need not fear it. It will not hurt you, Cilla, I vow it."
"You vow it?" She gasped, tears stinging her eyes. "How can I believe anything you say, when you're speaking of going back on your word? Will you take my inheritance to, after all? How can I believe it won't hurt, when it was excruciating and humiliating, the last time?"
"I am sorry for what I did to you, Cilla," he reached out and seized her hand. Aghast, she tried to pull her fingers from his grasp but he was surprisingly strong for one so ill. She gave up tugging and glared at him through tear filled eyes, her hand still held securely in his.
"I don't want to hear an apology," she ground out through clenched teeth. She stood over him, like one of Odin's Valkyrie. Like an angel of vengeance. "I'll never forgive you!" She hissed. Spittle flew from her lips. "You say you are not a monster? You are, you are the worst demon from hell. You say you're sorry? You aren't capable of it and even if you were, I'll never forgive you! In a hundred years, I will not!" she whirled from him and fled from the chamber.
She had no where to go. There was no Sara, no Rebecca, no Emily. There was only Beth, and Beth, Cilla knew, was in her husband's chamber. Servants gazed at her with concern as she struggled to compose herself, rubbing the heel of her hands into her eyes to quell the crying. Somehow, she found herself outside Tavington and Beth's chamber. She was so desperate for her cousin that, without even thinking that perhaps Beth and her husband might need privacy, Cilla pushed the door open and flew into the room.
Beth was in there but she was in no condition to speak with Cilla. Because Beth was on all fours and completely naked on her bed, with her husband kneeling behind her. Beth's hand gripped the end board for purchase, her hanging breasts jiggled as her husband, she panted as her buttocks slapped into Tavington's front as he rutted her from behind. Tavington's fingers were digging into Beth's waist, urging her on. Beth saw her first, her eyes widened - sheer joy shifted to mortification in a moment and she pulled the end of a blanket up to cover her breasts. Tavington's face slipped from ecstasy to fury. "Get out!" He bellowed without even breaking stride.
As if she needed to be told! A moment was all it took to take in the scene and Cilla was already racing out, Tavington was shouting at a swiftly slamming door.
Cilla's face flamed red with embarrassment, shame, chagrin. Lord, she'd walked in on them while they were coupling! Lord…! Gods, that's how he took me, Cilla thought frantically. That was what Bordon would make her do with him again! Cilla had seen her cousin's face before she'd rushed out, Beth had been in pure ecstasy. God, it was too much to take in. She stumbled down the hall, again ignoring servants, until she was in Banastre's chamber. She closed the door behind her and stumbled deeper into the room. Banastre was sleeping but he jerked awake as soon as the door shut.
"Beth?" He called.
"No," Cilla gasped out a sob.
"My darling," he said hoarsely. "Are you weeping?"
His concern - for Beth, not for her, made Cilla cry all the harder. Everybody loved Beth - even Cilla did. But only Beth loved Cilla. There was no one else in the world.
"Cilla, you poor thing," he said and she gasped, shocked that his concern was for her, after all. He held his arms out to her, she could see as her eyes adjusted to the dimness of the chamber that they were outstretched toward her, beckoning. She came forward slowly until she was close enough that he could reach her hand. She stared at him in utter, utter shock, as his fingers wounded around hers and he tugged and guided her, indicating she was to lay down beside him. "Come, Cil, I'll just hold you until you stop crying."
Oh God, with a desperate sob, she threw herself into his arms.
"There, there," he whispered when she was laying along side him, her head tucked beneath his chin. His arms cradled her, the fingers of one hand moved up and down her arm lightly. She felt his chin move, he kissed her hair, and then settled in, pulling her close again. It was so warm, it felt so good to be held. How long she stayed there, she did not know. Banastre fell asleep again, dozing lightly, his arms still holding her. She shuffled closer to his warmth, her arm on his chest. Lord, she had forgotten what it felt like, to be sheltered in such a protective, loving hold.
Despite her recovery from yellow fever, the events of the last half hour had drained her, she had no strength left. As if they had a will of their own, her eyes drifted shut and she drifted, and was assailed of dreams of Banastre kissing her at the ball. Banastre kept turning into Bordon, who had her sit astride him, the way Beth had sat astride William…
It began as kissing. When she awoke, her eyelids had fluttered open and there was Banastre, staring down at her. Without a word, he's bent his head to her and as they did the night of the ball, they began to kiss. As time went on, it became so much more than that. They were doing so much more. There was a deep seated pain between her legs. No, not pain. It was exquisite torture, it made her want to gasp. Just as Emily had described. The pleasurable sensation of deep arousal was being coaxed from the tips of Banastre's very adept fingers. She held tight to his shoulders, her lips moving with his as his fingers continued to explore her sex.
"We shouldn't," she whispered, though she made no move to move away from him. She could, he was not holding her down, as Richard had. She could simply rise and leave him laying on the bed. He grinned down at her.
"Why shouldn't we?" He asked her, leaning in close to brush his lips across hers.
"I'm married…" Gods, she could not move - those fingers pinned her to the bed more effectively than manacles of iron. Those sensations, so strong and sweet, held her trapped. Her skirts were bunched up around her waist, she could feel the warmth of the fire on her stockinged legs. It was such a blatant, provocative pose, she wondered at herself for allowing it to begin in the first place. She thought of pushing her skirts back down. Instead, she remained still, glorying in the wonderful feeling.
Emily was right, Gods, she'd been right about all of it.
"It seems it has become my mission to cheer you, Cilla, and I accept the charge with all my being," Banastre's voice, so smooth and warm, his breath hot against her ear, his nose nuzzling, his lips brushing. Lord, she'd never felt anything like it. His voice was as enthralling, as hypnotising as the sensations his fingers were drawing forth from between her legs.
"Dear God, I'm dying," she whispered.
"Not yet you're not, but you shall be," he chuckled. "Tell me, Cilla, are you not cheered?"
He was taunting her, fishing for compliments. He wanted her to tell him she desired him, that she wanted to bed him. But Cilla was too innocent, too new to the ways of lovemaking, to know this. Instead, she asked, startled and breathless, "you're doing this to cheer me?"
"And myself," he chuckled as he circled his fingers around her clitorus, his sweet breath tickling her cheek. He caught her lips with his, the kiss sent chills along her spine. "Are you enjoying yourself, my sweet Cilla?"
"God, yes," she admitted, gasping. Her face blazed crimson at the boldness of her reply. He chuckled again. As Cilla bit back a gasp, she finally understood why Beth had moaned out loud, that time Cilla had listened at the door. She finally understood Emily's despair for her, when she declared she would never couple with a man again. This was what Emily did not want Cilla to miss out on. And Gods, she'd been so right.
"Don't hold it back like that, Cilla," Banastre said, cajoling, instructing, even as his lips moved along her jaw to her neck. "Now is most definitely the time not to hold back, considering..." He wiggled his forefinger against her womanhood.
"Oh!" Cilla gasped. As if they had a life of their own, her hips pressed up against his finger tips, seeking, searching instinctively for what, she did not know yet. "You're in love with Beth," she rasped out, unable to comprehend why he was doing this with her. "I know you are. Why are you doing this with me?"
"I'm in love with Beth," he agreed. "But I can't have her anymore, and I will not be celibate. Besides, I already consider you to be a lover - we've enjoyed one another's embrace before, have we not?"
"This is much more than kissing," she whispered.
"Yes, Cil. It's much, much more than kissing," he chuckled. His fingers dipped lower and she sighed with disappointment at the loss of pleasure, she'd liked them just where they were. "Up here then?" He asked knowingly, voice teasing as he slipped them back up to her clit. The sensation returned in full force and she melted into the bed, relieved to have it back again. She nodded quickly, encouraging even though she knew she shouldn't. He smiled against her neck. In an almost conversational voice, he continued, "only a fool would refuse such a beauty as you when she slips into his bed. I think you and I could enjoy each other, as long as no one ever learns of it."
Cilla said nothing. Unless a long 'mmmnnmmmmm,' could be considered something. Lord, that feeling. Her body strained for more, it was just divine. She was utterly enraptured. His other arm cradled her head and he reached around to cup her face. He began to hum under his breath as he deepened the kiss. That he was enjoying her as much as she was him, swelled her with passion. She groaned as he parted her lips with his, nudging until she realised he wanted her to open her mouth. His tongue entered, her eyes flew open wide when his tongue stroked hers. It was unexpected, it was shocking, it was wonderful, sweet Lord above. She trembled in his arms. He continued, his voice gaining intensity with each passing moment, "we'll tell no one. I know, we are betraying him and he is my friend, but right now, I am beyond caring," this was whispered fervently between ever growing passionate kisses. Cilla was scared, fascinated, entranced.
"I think… I… I think I'm beyond caring, also," she admitted hesitantly, voice hoarse. He grinned against her lips, and she began kissing him as deeply as he did her, learning from him and enjoying it as she never thought she could. She did not love him, why was her body responding so fiercely? Lord, that sensation between her legs, it was growing, spreading… Sweet Lord above! She began exploring him, her fingers gripped his forearms while her lips drifted from his to brush along his neck, as he had done to her. Her heart was pounding, blood roaring through her veins as she was spun around and around in a whirlpool of delight. Her womanhood was agony now, a lovely ache that his fingers was easing even as they caused the sensation to increase, to swell, until she felt she would explode… She arched her back and whimpered, fingers curling into his nightshirt.
"That's it," he whispered. His cock was raging; Lord, but he was on fire. It'd been days since he'd last been with a woman! His fingers still stroked her clit, his lips and tongue exploring hers, his body in constant movement with hers as he rubbed his crotch against her restless thigh.
She grabbed him, her fingers gripping his hair as she bucked her hips up and down. Throat thick, she began to pant. Lord, what the devil was she doing? She didn't care anymore, her body wouldn't let her care anymore! "Oooh!" She could not help it, the gasp exploded from her.
"Those are the sounds I love to hear," he pulled free of her grasp. He removed his hand from her womanhood - why was he removing his hand?!
"No! Why are you stopping?" She felt a moment of panic, for he was moving away from her. He'd stopped pleasuring her and he was pushing himself upward and away! She needed… Needed… She didn't know what but she did need it, and desperately. Why was he moving away from her? Where was he going? And why the devil was he laughing?
"Patience, sweet Cilla," he chucked. The dark shape of him had not gone far, he'd only lifted himself up and was now kneeling beside and over her. His fingers returned to that delightful place and she sighed with relief and mounting pleasure - he had not stopped. He would continue, thank heaven above. His other hand was guiding her thighs to part and, astonishingly, he leaned down over her and now she felt his breath on her quim. The ends of his hair tickled her thigh. "I'm not stopping, sweet Cil. I think you'll like this very much," he whispered and then his fingers were replaced by his tongue.
"Oh my God!" She gasped, writhing as he explored her. He was making strangling noises, his body tense as though he was waiting for something…. more. More from her. A moment later, she knew what that thing was, as her entire body reached a precipice and she exploded, shattering, falling, blazing with heat. The heat lifted her, she was spinning in ecstasy - it left her breathless, speechless, to be seized and held in such unheard of joy. Slowly, that magnificence began to abate. She lay still, panting, a small sated smile quirking her lips.
Now, she knew - now she finally understood, what had driven Beth to moan loud enough for Cilla to hear her through the door. And what drove Emily to her many infidelities. So dazed was she in the fullness of that completion, that when Banastre moved between her parted thighs, she was not quite aware of it. She did not realise his destination or his intentions, even as he lowered his body atop of hers.
"I've needed this for so long," he whispered in her ear. He kissed her deeply, and she felt a nudging between her legs, realised it was his manhood. For a moment, she was cast back to the dungeon, pinned down on the table, Bordon pushing his member inside her, causing her pain, determined to make her scream. She froze and made a terrified sound, a gasp as she cringed back. "Cil?" And just like that she was in the present again, and it was Banastre's body on top of hers, it was Banastre's member hovering just at her entrance. He had advanced no further; indeed he was beginning to draw away and she had room to breathe again. "If you don't want to, I understand," he said. He made no further move away from her but nor was he as close as he had been.
"You won't…" She trailed off, feeling confused.
"I won't what?" Banastre asked, a smile tugging his lips. "Be utterly disappointed? Discontented? Crushed?"
"Force me," she said. His eyes widened, his smile slipped away.
"No, never that," he replied. "Oh, Cil. I'm sorry, lass. When you marry, it has to be consummated, though I am aware that at times, the new wife might not be so willing. It wouldn't be like that. I'm not your new husband under pressure to make his marriage binding. I'm your lover, Cil. Or I would be, if you'll have me."
What Bordon had done to her had nothing to do with their wedding night, but Cilla had no desire to explain this to Banastre. It was enough to see the kindness in his eyes, the sympathy that came with the understanding that her first time was not what she would have wished for it to be. He was offering to back away from her, though she lay vulnerably beneath him, her skirts around her waist, her legs open, him between them, ready to take her. She was defenceless but despite how easy it would be for him to force this activity, he was prepared to leave her be.
She stroked her fingers along his cheek, winding his auburn hair around his ear. "It'll be different, with you?" She asked. "Because you're my lover."
"As different as day is to night, especially now that I know you need me to be," he said gently. His phallus had begun to soften but her question had set his pulse to raising, the blood surging through his body to flood into his most vulnerable place again.
"Alright." Feeling safe now, she smiled up at him. "I wouldn't want you to be disappointed. Discontented. Or crushed," she teased and he laughed. It was already far different, there was laughter and warmth here with Banastre, where there had been neither with Bordon in the dungeon.
"Instead, I shall be in ecstasy. Contentment. Joy. And you shall be too," he resumed his kissing of her as he lowered his pelvis again to hers. This time, she did not stiffen or freeze, did not shy back or sound terrified. Instead, her hands were moving down his back to his buttocks and back again, her kisses were as deep as his and when he nudged at her entrance, the little sound she made was one of encouragement. Gone was her terror, and returned was his need. He began to whisper it to her, how beautiful she was, how desperate he was to join with her, to show her how magnificent it could be. Her fear was entirely gone even as he began to advance inside of her. He did it so very slowly, and astonishingly, there was no pain. None. He glided in, like a warm knife into butter. In awe, she gazed up at him, wide eyed.
"It didn't hurt," she murmured and he smiled down at her.
"Has no one told you? Only the first time does," he said, his lips drifting along her cheek to her ear. "And I prepared you quite well, didn't I?"
"Prepared me?"
"With my fingers." He was fully inside her now. "With my tongue. All this," he lifted back, his phallus withdrawing from her slick cavern, only to advance back in again. "Is all you. I prepared you. You are so beautiful. Sweet. Warm and dripping like honey…" he trailed off for a moment, in rapture. She studied his face so close to hers. He looked to be in rapture. His arms trembled, he struggled to bear his own weight. He sobbed a gasping sob, holding himself completely still lest he finish too quickly. Cilla remained impaled on his phallus for several long moments before he continued to thrust. Even then, it was gentle, no pain.
"Cilla," he whispered, his lips again on hers. Her arms, heavy and languid, draped around his neck. He thrust his hips, she felt his member filling her and moving out, filling her again. Within moments, he was done, shuddering on top of her, she could feel the puff of his breath across her cheeks. Still inside of her, he collapsed to his elbows and held her, kissing her gently and with love. At length, he withdrew, she felt the warm liquid of their arousal - the preparation he was speaking about - seep from her body. As he began to move off from her, he started to apologise immediately. "My sweet Cilla, after I promised you'd be in ecstasy too, I've given quite an embarrassing show of myself." He said, chagrined. He lay alongside her and kissed her gently even as he defended himself. "I'm still sick, you know... I'm not up to my usual prowess…"
"It was perfect," she smiled, turning onto her side to face him. He lifted his arm for her to lay on, and she settled against his chest again.
"Next time," he promised her, "I promise it'll be better next time, when I'm well enough. If you'll allow there to be a next time." There was a questioning tone in that.
"I think I will," she found herself saying. "I've never known anything like it… It's really rather astonishing! And embarrassing!" She lifted her head from his chest and gazed down at him, laughing. "I don't know what you must be thinking of me!"
"I'm thinking you're beautiful and passionate, and - wait, what do you mean, you've never known anything like it?" He frowned up at her. "Cilla, you spoke of your wedding night and I know it wasn't what it you'd have liked for it to be, but… Surely Richard is… Taking care… of you?"
Her smile slipped, turned a little sickly. She did not want to be taken care of by Richard. Banastre snorted, misinterpreting her reaction.
"No doubt he's spending more time with that mistress of his than with you," he tightened his lips. "Damned fool of a man. Well, his loss is my gain. If he won't take care of you, I most certainly shall!"
"His mistress?" Cilla frowned. "You mean, you know too?"
"Oh," Banastre said, chagrined. "I'm sorry, Cil. Yes, I know."
"I suppose everyone does," she heaved an unhappy breath.
"No, I do not think so," Banastre shook his head. "I believe they are being discreet this time."
"I hope so and frankly, that is all I care about," she said. "As long as he is discreet, he can do whatever he likes," she brightened and ventured shyly, "and as long as we're discreet…"
"We can do whatever we like?" He finished for her with a bright smile.
"If you'd like to… I did enjoy this. So very, very much!" She giggled, feeling reinvigorated, renewed.
"You are a passionate thing!" He cupped her face, bought her down to kiss him.
She nestled against his chest. "I didn't know I could be, until you… well, until you did what you did. It was precisely what I needed. All of it. Thank you, Banastre. For showing me how wonderful it can be. Right now, you are exactly what I need."
"As you are for me," he stroked her nape and stared up at the canopy over head. "I won't be here forever, though," he felt it prudent to set some boundaries now. They could have their fun, discreetly, but he could not have her falling in love with him, then accusing him of making false promises when he left her. That had happened before. He much preferred loving a woman for as long as they were together, and having fond memories of her when he departed. The only woman who had held him ensnared was Beth, and she might never be his again. He understood how those other women felt now, the ones who loved him and couldn't let go…
"I know," she said. "And you know? I think I might even miss you when you go."
He laughed, her head bounced on his chest from the force of it.
"Can I ask you something?" She said, lifting her head again.
"Anything! And you know? I might even answer you!" He grinned.
"You said you couldn't have Beth 'anymore'," she said, and she saw his smile begin to fade. "What did you mean?"
"Slip of the tongue," he shrugged. She cocked her head to one side, studying him.
"You're lying to me…" She guessed and heard his quickly indrawn breath. "What did you mean, Ban?"
"Ban," he smiled, trying to divert her. "You realise you've never called me that before? Banastre, when we're alone. Colonel. Or Colonel Tarleton. Perhaps you've even called me a Lobsterback bastard - that's a common one among you rebels… I do so like the way my pet name drips from your tongue. Like honey. I'm going to make you say it again, when I'm buried inside you. Later though. Much later," he laughed. "I'm too exhausted to attempt to coax it from you now."
She arched her eyebrows. He'd tried to divert her with his long speech and it made the hairs on her arms stand on end. He could not have meant what she thought he meant… Could he? 'I'm in love with Beth. But as I can't have her anymore, I will not be celibate.' Had he had an affair with Beth, before she married Tavington? Did Cilla really want to know if Beth had? She decided that, right now, she did not. Besides, he did not have any desire to discuss it so she let the matter drop and settled back against his chest. It felt nice - so nice… To have shared such an enlightening and intense experience, and then afterward, relax through the glow in one another's arms. She'd never known anything like this. When Tavington had ripped Bordon from her during the rape, there had been nothing but pain and humiliation, fear and helplessness. She'd scurried off to a corner where she'd huddled, crying, her knees pressed to her chest… Cilla shuffled even closer to Banastre now, she wished he'd tighten his hold on her…
"I think Michael and Marcus were right," Cilla stretched, her entire body felt so relaxed. Languid. She settled against him again. "They were certain you'd seduce Rebecca with ease and now I'm thinking you could have. With ease…"
"Of course I could have. So, they discovered her infatuation, did they?" He guessed. Surprised, she shifted her face upward to meet his gaze. He shrugged. "Any blind fool could see it… And I'll admit I considered it… but you know, I didn't want the bother of her brothers chasing after me. And I sensed that Miss Middleton would not have been the type of girl to let me go easily… No, I don't believe I would have tried with her. But I've no doubt I would have succeeded," he laughed.
"You're so modest!" She giggled. "Lord, the arrogance…"
"What can I say? Women love me," he said truthfully. "Rebels and loyalists alike…"
"Hmm," she mused, thinking it was probably true. She was not in love with him, but she lay in his arms quite willingly…
"Why were you crying, Cil? When you came in before. What had you so upset?"
"Well, I was crying because… Because everyone is gone! I'd grown very close with Emily, she spent more time with me than anyone. But Sarah is gone too, and Rebecca. Beth barely has time for me, she's busy with… well, with other things," she felt he might be hurt, if she told him that Beth was busy with Tavington mostly. "I miss my mamma, I'm so worried about her, I don't even know where she is. I miss my father - him most of all, I think. He was killed and I'll never see him again." She sniffled and Banastre tightened his hold, whispering softly. It helped to calm her. She missed her child, too, though she felt certain if she spoke of that, she would truly fall to pieces. Instead, she fell silent and let herself be soothed.
"I miss home too, you know. Does that help?" He asked her. "To know you're not the only one grieving for what is so far away, for things you might never have again?" She glanced at him in askance. "I'm only human, you know," he admitted. "I have a mother who loves me - I'm her favourite child, you know, though I'm a constant cause of disappointment to her…"
"You!" She gasped, raising onto one elbow. "I don't believe that. You've risen through the ranks on merit alone. From - Cornet, wasn't it? And now you're a Colonel! Not that I like the British army particularly well, but I guess I like you. I sort of have to now, don't I?" She smiled.
"Yeh, I reckon you might have to," he smiled back. "Anyway, you were saying?" He prompted. She'd been stroking his pride quite nicely and he wanted more.
"Well, I just don't see how your mother can be disappointed, that's all. I'd have thought she would be proud. Surely they write of your accomplishments in the newspapers over there? She must receive praise every time she steps out onto the street… why should she be disappointed?"
"Because I love to gamble and," he laughed as he flipped her over onto her back in one smooth move. "I love women. Far too much for her liking."
"Oh," she nibbled her lip as she stared up at him. His eyes were as dark as hers, she'd never noticed that before. He was quite handsome, with a finely shaped face and full lips… those lips descended on her now, caught her own, nudged them apart. His tongue slipped in to trace hers and she felt herself melt into the mattress.
"I'm exhausted," he whispered between strokes of their tongues. "Or I'd be inside you again right now…"
"It was divine," she draped her arms around his neck with a contented sigh. "What you did… you know, before we coupled…" There was a question in that, she bit her lip and blushed.
"Richard doesn't do that to you?" He asked, shocked. "Jesus, he's a neglectful husband. Oh well, you've got me for that now…"
"Until you leave. And then what am I to do?" She asked, feeling playful. Lord, he was taking her through a vast range of emotions, from passion to melancholy to pleasure, to playful… It astounded her, his affect on her.
"Get yourself a lover…"
"Can you recommend someone?" She giggled at his expression.
"Not from my own experience, no," he said primly, though he laughed at her implication too. "I -"
The door began to open. Banastre lurched off from her and Cilla hurtled from the bed into the armchair like a shot, faster than a bullet blasting from a rifle. They could see Beth clearly in the open doorway haloed by light behind her, she was still blinking, trying to adjust her eyes to the dim chamber. Cilla swallowed hard; sweet Lord, that had been close. Banastre was still pulling the blankets up to cover himself, and she could feel his seed sleeping from her body to pool between her thighs and onto her petticoats…. Beth could see none of that, and she shut the door quietly, in case Banastre was sleeping. She edged toward Cilla, and Banastre decided it would be prudent to pretend to sleep, to add to the illusion of innocence. He gazed up at her through half slit eyes.
"Cilla, are you alright?" Beth whispered, laying her hand on her cousin's arm. "I'm so sorry. Lord, I can't believe you saw -"
"It's alright, though you really should lock your door next time. It might have been someone else walking in on you while you were -" Cilla paused, her eyes darted to Banastre, who she knew was not sleeping. To save his feelings, she changed what she'd been about to say, "…getting dressed…. believe me, you'd be even more mortified! I'm alright now. I just needed to calm down…"
Beth also shot Banastre a quick glance. He appeared to be sleeping but still, she was grateful that Cilla did not declare what she had really seen Beth doing.
"What upset you? Come, let's go for a walk. We don't want to wake Ban. Is he alright? I've been so worried about him."
Banastre tried not to smile as he basked in her words.
"He's alright. Strong as an ox, I reckon," Cilla said and he forced the smirk from his lips. She was a clever thing, was Cilla Putman-Bordon. He was going to enjoy her. And he wouldn't feel the slightest shred of guilt, either. A friend Bordon might be, but he was neglecting his wife, so it was his own damned fault that she felt the need to look elsewhere for what he should have been giving her.
"I'm glad to hear it. He's been sick for too long. And he was worse than the others too. I've barely slept, with fear for him," Beth admitted. "And for William too," she added quickly, but Banastre ignored that. She'd said it only because she had to, he was certain. She was a dutiful wife, and too damned good for William. The two women slipped from the room, and Banastre stretched, smiling contentedly, and finally gave into a much needed sleep. How he'd managed to perform for Cilla, he still did not know. But he was determined to do it again.
In case they had any more unwanted visitors, William locked the door before returning to the bed. Late afternoon sunlight filtered through the window, slanting across Beth, bathing her in glorious light. She held her arms up, beckoning him back to her. He grinned down at her, took hold of the blankets, and threw them back with one sweep of his hand. She giggled and he stared down at her, laying on her back in her short shift. He loved seeing her like this - a short shift that showed far more than it revealed, her hair a tumble around her shoulders, the full scope of her bare legs - he was the only one that could see her like this, and he loved it. She tilted her head on the pillow and gazed up at him with a smile. He did not fall into her embrace - instead, as he stood over her, he began edging the bottom of her shift even higher up her thighs. Her smile turned knowing and eager as he began caressing the inside of her thighs. He knew she loved this, the soft caresses, and he remained doing it for some time before gliding up to the other place she loved to be caressed. Beth closed her eyes and sighed, her smile fading as she closed her eyes and settled in to enjoy his touch. He did lie down alongside her then, to kiss her as his fingers explored her sex. She did drape her arms around him now and he relished the little heavy breaths she panted into his mouth. He slipped two fingers up inside her and she shuddered beneath him. He moved his fingers back and forth inside of her and as her moisture increased, he withdrew his fingers for he liked to see her arousal glistening on his fingers. It gave him such a thrill, to see the evidence of how he effected her.
As he glanced at his fingers, he gave a start, for her cream was not clear, but tinged with pink. What the devil? It took him a moment to realise what it was, and when he did, he was unable to control his disappointment.
"You're bloody bleeding again!" He lurched up and glared down at her. Another month had passed. A month full of hope and coupling. All dashed, for yet again, this month, Beth's courses were upon her.
"What?" Beth gasped, lifting up onto her elbows.
"You see?" He shoved his fingers under her nose, showing her her blood slick cream. "Damn and blast it, Beth! Another bloody month and nothing to show for it. You've got your menses again!" He pushed away from her and threw his legs over the bed. Standing abruptly, he jerked one of the drawers open, reached in, then threw the rectangles of cloth onto the bed between her legs. "Looks like you'll be needing these again." He spat. "Shall I get the maids to making more? How many more months of them will you need?"
"I… William, I'm sorry. I… I don't know how this keeps happening!" Beth said. She pulled the blanket back up her body as she pressed her knees to her chest. "I'm sorry."
"You're sorry. You were sorry last month, and the month before that! How many more months are you going to be sorry for?"
"I'm as disappointed as you," she said, feeling wretched. "You said… It could be the responsibility. I don't have to look after the camp followers anymore but still, I've been run off my feet looking after everyone and managing the household. Maybe next month will be different -"
"You said that last month," he snapped.
"But this time it will be," she said. "Everyone is starting to get better, there will be less work and worry for me, now. Everything will settle down now, with you back on your feet."
"You're blaming me?" William spat. "Because you had to look after me? I was sick, Beth!"
"I'm getting really tired of this!" Beth shouted up at him, guilt, frustration, shame, all rolled into one. And anger. "Why are you always blaming me? Why can't you be to blame? The problem could lie with you!"
William scowled. "There's no bloody way that the problem could lie with me," he spat.
"Oh, that's right," she spat. "You have two bastards."
"Perhaps I'll need to send for them, they might be the only heirs I ever get," he was dressed now. Beth gasped in a furious breath.
"How dare you say such a thing! Of all the horrid - where are you going?"
He unlocked the door, jerked it open.
"Where are you going?" She shouted. He saw her rising, but as she was only in her shift, it would be some time before she could follow.
"Don't wait up for me," he snapped, slamming the door behind him.
William's child was growing in Linda's stomach, while Beth's stomach was still empty. Linda had been bedding him exclusively since the end of May. Now, she was four months along. Within only a few weeks of bedding William only, Linda had fallen pregnant. Yet just over three months of marriage to Beth had yielded nothing, her stomach still hadn't quickened. Was she barren? Were they fated to have a childless marriage? He was going to be a father, but his wife would never be a mother.
"How is the baby?" William asked Linda. He was seated on the stool, she was standing before him and he cupped the swell of her stomach with both his hands.
"I can feel it move," Linda replied, her eyes shining bright with joy.
"Really? By God. What does it feel like?" His hands moved over her stomach, trying to feel the baby within.
"Little flutters, as if a butterfly was trapped in there," she laid her palm on his face. "Much like it feels whenever I think of you."
"Linda," he laughed softly and shook his head.
"Do you want to tell me why you're so angry?" She cocked her head, amusement made her eyes dance. "Or perhaps you'd like me to use your belt on you - and we can talk afterward?"
"Jesus," he laughed again. It had been months since he'd needed her to abuse his flesh to calm his rage. Just now, with his nasty little fight with Beth, William found he had no where to go. No one to speak to, no one too confide in. Not anyone he trusted, anyway. There was Cilla, but he and she had never warmed to one another, he knew she blamed him for much of what had happened in the dungeon with Bordon. And for not punishing his Major, for his assault against her. There would never be common ground there. Bordon was not available to him, sick as he was. And Banastre, well Banastre was the last person William would confide any of his woes to now, especially the marital sort. Harmony was in Pembroke and he wasn't about to go all the way there just for someone to talk to. Which had left Linda Stokes, his former mistress. And the woman who would bear him a child, where his wife might not.
"You don't need to use your belt on me," he said honestly. "You've calmed me already."
The naughtiness slipped from Linda's face, shifting into hope and love. She lowered herself to her knees before him, looking very serious indeed. She took hold of his hand, removed it from her stomach to kiss his open palm. "I knew you'd need me," she whispered.
"I guess you were right," he smiled down at her. His smile disappeared as she leaned in and laid her lips on his. The kiss was familiar, warm, and heartening. He allowed it for several long moments, before drawing back and shaking his head. She did not pursue him, she stared up at him, waiting for him to decide what his next move would be. Resume the kiss, which both knew would lead to so much more? Or reassert the barriers she was trying to smash down? "Do you have any cards?" He asked, choosing the latter.
He saw the brief flare of disappointment cross her face, but then she was moving back and searching among her belongings. She turned back to him with a deck of cards in one hand, and a bottle of whiskey in the other. Laughing, he nodded approval. "Perfect," he said. "Faro, I think," he said as he slid off the chair to sit cross legged on the straw covered floor across for her. Linda laid out a large plank of wood between them - that was their table, and she began to deal the cards.