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His recent dose of Elixir was having the desired effect as she invited him to step out of his pants. He was left completely naked before her, rising to iron strength as she took him in her hands. Without releasing him, she tipped her face up, demanding a kiss, the first kiss of the marital chamber. He complied, lost in the pleasure of her soft hands, and the kiss was sweet and insistent, tasting of wine and the subtle florals of her perfume.

She stepped back, still fully dressed in her marital gown, the hem of her dress swishing across the carpet, and surveyed his naked body as a whole. He was surprised at the pleasure of it, the newness of being, what, admired? He allowed himself to exult in the experience, to preen, tightening his stomach and standing taller under the scrutiny of those eyes. Yes, he didn’t mind this in the least.

“Oh, I think so,” she said, and Bluebeard wondered what she meant, but she left no time for thought. She swept forward, still enmeshed in her sweeping dress and corseted waist and cascades of shimmering hair, and took his beard in her hands. It was too much. He didn’t know what to feel. Was she ridiculing him, shaming him in her own subtle way, standing there fully clothed while he was exposed, or was she as engaged as he had become, lost in her adoration of his physical nature?

His question was answered in an instant when she said, stroking his beard, “I know exactly where this needs to be.”

She glided over to the bed, taking her place at the edge of the brocade coverlet. It was all there in her eyes, her desire and her challenge. With slow and seductive grace, she gathered up her dress, exposing her shapely ankles, her silk stockings and garter, her powdered knees, her tender thighs, and finally, with a seductive gesture of her manicured fingers, the new home for his blue beard. He fell to his knees and felt her insistent fingers weave through his hair, driving him onward into her most private depths.

CHAPTER 11

Zayan woke in darkness to the sounds of shouting, amazed to find that he’d been sleeping at all. When he went to bed earlier, sleep didn’t seem to be an option. As he was hanging his ridiculous costume in the armoire, it soon became abundantly clear that Mage Bluebeard’s bedroom was positioned above the thin ceiling of his room. After hours of trying to stifle the noise under his pillow, it was equally clear that the mage and his new wife had consummated their marriage, vigorously and vociferously and repeatedly.

The antique clock on his bedside table read 2:00 AM, hours before the alarm was set for his morning meeting with Bluebeard. He was groggy, still rather drunk from the grand feast that followed the ceremony, but the angry voices were enough to compel him out of bed. He stepped over to the window, barely a slit in the stone wall of the castle, and looked down over an angry mob, complete with flaming torches. He opened the leaded glass so he could hear. One of the men, an older fellow in peasant clothes, gripped the arm of a young woman, the woman who had served their dinner that evening. Thierry stood at the entrance to the castle, facing them.

“Stand aside!” the man yelled. “I’m taking my daughter home, and you can’t stop us.”

Thierry ignored the man completely, asking, “Maggie, is this what you want?”

“Father, please, listen to me. The work is fair and they pay me well. We can use the money. Leave me be.”

“He’s at it again!” her father shouted. “I’ll not have my daughter be the next. Stop your whining and come…”

Thierry berated the man. “Geoffrey, control yourself and come to your senses. There’s no need for this dramatic excess. Your daughter is in no danger, and her work at the castle has been exemplary.”

“That’s not what I’ve been hearing!” he yelled, gripping his daughter more tightly as she tried to pull away. “It’s the devil’s work, I’m telling you, and I’ll have no part of it.”

Thierry made no response to that. What could he say? This mob of angry men obviously had their minds made up.

Zayan heard heavy footsteps cross the ceiling over his head, and the window above his scraped open. Then an angry Bluebeard shouted, “You have two days to return her to her duties, then we’ll find someone else. Take your filthy horde off my land, or I’ll deal with you myself.”

He slammed his window shut, and the ceiling creaked as he stomped back to bed. Thierry continued, “Maggie, as the Master said, I can hold your position for two days. Please send word of your decision after you’ve discussed this more calmly with your family.”

With that, he walked back to the castle, and Zayan lost sight of him as he passed inside. Maggie continued to struggle, but another man took her other arm, and they led her away down the road.

Wow, Zayan marveled. Thierry has some balls, facing down an angry mob.

He’d been unflappable ever since Zayan arrived, apart from one short moment at the celebration. When Bluebeard guided him out to the courtyard and led him through a waltz, Thierry’s stalwart armor fractured, and the man shone through. Try as he might, he couldn’t hide a hint of a smile, and pure adoration welled deep in his eyes. Zayan doubted Bluebeard noticed, after the gallons of wine he’d consumed, but it was easy to see that Thierry loved his employer, deeply and without reservation. It was all there in that slight lapse of his formal manner, written in the yearning curve of his brow.

Zayan heard a tap at his door, and he had no doubt of who was on the other side. Quickly, he prepared, slipping off his boxers and tossing them under the bed, and donning one of the soft silk robes he found hanging in the armoire. He tied it enough to look unplanned and opened the door.

“Did you hear that?” Tom whispered immediately.

Zayan joked, intentionally misunderstanding, “What, the happy couple above us?”

“No,” Tom whispered, and Zayan could barely see the blush of his cheek in the dim light. “Shhh, or they’ll hear.”

“I’m guessing they’re fast asleep after their lusty workout. I counted three times…how about you?”

“Stop! Really, they might hear. No, what was going on outside? It’s like we’re in a Frankenstein movie with all the torches and pitchforks.”

Zayan joked, taking Tom’s arm and pulling him inside, “Yeah, but who’s the monster? Bluebeard or us?”

“Probably Bluebeard,” Tom said, answering literally. “I think they were talking about the Mage. What do they mean by devil’s work?”

“Judging from the pounding on the ceiling, our Mage is a lusty man. I could totally imagine him demanding more, um, personal services from the help.” Wasn’t that, in fact, what he was demanding of Zayan?

“Yuck! I suppose there are no guardrails for harassment out here in the middle of nowhere. That could be it. But again, devil’s work is a strong accusation. You know, we don’t know anything about him. Did he say he was an alchemist at dinner? Maybe that’s what’s bothering these people. I thought alchemy was a myth. Do you think he makes gold?”