D. A. Houdek

Deb Houdek Rule

Web designer - Science Fiction author - Civil War historian - Genealogy researcher

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Of All the Western Stars

by Deb Houdek Rule

Chapter 9

A horse whinnied and the door creaked and Ashur opened his eyes to the reality of full day. Lady Stafford, swathed again in a costume that concealed all but her abundant breasts, appeared carrying a steaming bowl. Ashur resisted the urge to cringe at the sight. What horrors did she plan to shove down his throat today?

From behind the woman’s voluminous skirts Ashur glimpsed something that put a smile on his face. That sweet faun, Lisette, stood meekly behind Lady Stafford. No, not a faun this morning. Today she was an angel dressed all in white. Her eyes twinkled as she met his and he recalled that she hadn’t been so meek when they’d been alone. He wished she’d worn that translucent wisp of a gown again, though she certainly looked enchanting in this one. Women’s costumes varied so from world to world, with no rationale to their design, that one simply had to accept them without question. He had to admit, to his surprise, that the female costumes of this era had a certain appeal… on Lisette, at least. The sleeves of this one were like wings, the wide ends reaching half way to the floor. The low, square neckline was tight over the swell of her breasts and ever so much more appealing to Ashur than the same effect on the witch doctor.

Lady Stafford leaned close, either not noticing, or pointedly ignoring, Ashur’s appraisal of Lisette. Ashur wished she’d move back again. The older woman seemed to have bathed in perfume. The cloying scent almost choked him. Though, considering the aromas rising from that crowd of men who’d visited him last night, he ought to be grateful for the perfume.

"Good morning," Ashur said, trying to breath through his mouth.

"And a good morrow to you," Lady Stafford answered. Behind her Lisette echoed the words almost silently but with a smile that raised Ashur’s heart rate a touch. "I’d have not believed it," Lady Stafford marveled, "Not only are you alive but looking fit as a frog. Brought you some breakfast, good Scots oatmeal. Lisette, you come here and feed him while I undo these wrappings and we’ll see how you’re mending."

Ashur didn’t need help eating but was more than willing to play along. And it was better than watching what Lady Cicely was doing. With a round, oddly shaped, silver spoon (at least he hoped it was silver and not lead) Lisette dipped into the thick mush and presented it to him. The oatmeal was of an odd consistency and filled with oat hulls, but with his eyes locked with Lisette’s, and her supple breasts leaning forward and back near him, Ashur found it the finest meal he’d ever had.

"Unbelievable," Lady Stafford announced and straightened up. Somewhat reluctantly, Ashur looked down at the wounds this anachronism had allegedly repaired. By all the stars in the galaxy! She’d sewn him up like a piece of cloth. Ashur wanted to be ill. Mercifully, he was immune to infection or he likely would be dead. She’d stitched the wounds up without cleaning out the dirt or disinfecting. Ah, yes. They hadn’t invented the microscope yet, didn’t know about germs and sepsis, didn’t even know enough to wash their filthy hands. Okay, maybe she’d kept him from bleeding to death, Ashur conceded grudgingly, but he’d likely have permanent scars from this.

Lady Stafford shook her head, amazement clearly written on her face. "If I’d not seen it myself, I’d not believe it. Scarcely two days gone by and these stitches can come out. You’re well mended."

"All due to your skills, Madame," he said graciously, hoping that she’d believe it rather than start thinking about witchcraft and pacts with the devil and such. "I do thank you."

She nodded acknowledgment and pulled out a small, sharp dagger. Wiping it on her skirt, she said, "Mind this now, Lisette. See how I take out the stitches."

Ashur winced more than once as the silk threads were cut and pulled away. Lisette, he noted, observed with frank and unabashed curiosity… until she met his eyes, that was. Then she blushed that delightful shade of pink.

"There we are," Lady Stafford straightened. She flipped the sheet back over him. "You’ll be sore for a while, and no doubt a wee bit weak, but you’re well enough to be getting up and about. We should give thanks to Almighty God for delivering you from almost certain death and granting you so speedy a recovery."

Ashur took that as empty form so was startled when both Lady Stafford and Lisette immediately closed their eyes for a moment, then crossed themselves. Under Lady Stafford’s harsh scrutiny, Ashur quickly and clumsily copied the gesture.

"And thanks to you and your husband for your kindness and generosity. I hope I shall be able to repay you soon," Ashur said expansively and thought, but how? He didn’t think they were equipped to run a charge on his Universal Credit. He was afraid he’d be relying on their generosity for a while longer.

The older woman gathered up the bandages, piling them on her tray of homeopathic horrors. Lisette stood quietly with the bowl, edging away from his bed.

"Lady Stafford?"

"Aye."

"Is there some way I might bathe… uh, wash?" he amended, considering that the concept of a bath might be too alien for her dark ages lexicon.

Lady Stafford shrugged. "Surely, if you want. Lisette, will you tend to it. Fetch that basin you’ve been using." She hesitated, taking measure of the situation. "I’ll send up Maisy with hot water and some soap. She’ll help."

Chaperone, you mean, Ashur thought.

Lisette fidgeted outside Ashur’s chamber until the maid arrived lugging a wooden pail of hot water. The soap, in a small clay pot, resembled the oatmeal she’d fed Ashur, gray and slimy. It smelled strongly of lye. Wishing again she’d brought her own soap, she made Maisy wait while she dashed back to her room and fetched a container of rose-scented lanolin. Mixed with the soap it should make it more tolerable.

Feeling herself begin to blush even as she pushed the door open, Lisette struggled to steady herself. She’d managed to stay unaffected while watching Lady Stafford remove the stitches from Ashur’s lean body by concentrating hard on the medical skills she was acquiring. Though she’d used that as an excuse to be near to Ashur, Lisette had quickly become fascinated and now truly hoped to learn this wondrous knowledge of Lady Stafford’s.

Ashur’s luminous eyes met hers instantly with an expression of… hmmm… as a wolf looked upon a lamb. Raising her chin, Lisette tried to appear dispassionately intent on her task. Inside, however, she found herself pleased and flattered to be looked on with such open desire. The feeling reached that curious place within where the quivering heat began. She thought of their kiss in the dark… How strange and distant it seemed, like a dream. The feel of his lips, of his body near hers, his touch upon her, warmed her through. She fought for control.

Keeping her eyes and mind resolutely on her task, Lisette directed Maisy to fetch a stool and put it near the bedstead. Ashur’s unrelenting stare burned into her flesh as she poured the water in the basin. Maisy, sullen as all the Stafford’s servants seemed to be, was more than willing to seat herself in a far corner of the room on a trunk, idly pulling at the threads fraying from her garment and humming a wordless tune to herself. No doubt if Lisette scolded her she’d join in the work and do her share. Lisette didn’t scold her.

Lisette scooped a handful of the rose cream and put it into the soap, working the two together with her fingers. A trace of a smile tweaked at her mouth when she saw Ashur swallow hard as he watched her hands.

The creamy mixture ready, Lisette reached toward the sheet and coverlet to pull them back. Ashur stopped her, whispering to her in a husky voice, "I can do this myself… if you’d prefer."

The gentlemanly gesture touched her, and gave her a hint of the power she might have over a man with her womanly charms. She smiled at him, no longer apprehensive about meeting his gaze, feeling herself confident and in control, a strength found in the reflection of his desire. It, too, was a new sensation and she liked it.

Softly, she answered, "You need to rest, not strain those wounds. Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle."

He laughed, a low, pleasant sound. "I wasn’t worried," he said and pulled the sheet back for her.

Her fingers trembled for a moment as she touched his bare chest, rubbing the soap over his skin. Taking deep breaths to steady herself, Lisette moved her fingers over his chest, feeling the outline of each hard muscle beneath the supple flesh. With slow, rhythmic movements, she massaged the slick mixture over his chest, swirling in the black hairs that grew there, stroking the rippling muscles of his stomach in harmony with his breaths, down toward his waist where her fingers sought to probe yet further. A soft moan escaped Ashur. A throbbing heat built in Lisette, a yearning she knew not how to fulfill. Her fingertips explored every inch of this man that was bare and craved for more.

Dare she suggest he remove his breeches? Ashur made no move and Lisette didn’t trust herself to suggest it. She turned to the basin, soaking one of her cloths in the warm water. The liquid did nothing to quell the fire in her.

Ashur let out a long, slow breath as the first drop of water touched him. This woman’s touch was pure magic. He grasped the sheets tightly with his hands to keep himself from grabbing her and pulling her down on him. He wanted to. He wanted to free her hair from those caps and braids and feel it cascade over their naked bodies like satin. He wanted to nuzzle her breasts and hear her moans as her nipples hardened against his tongue. He wanted her on him rocking back and forth. She wanted that too, he could tell. If it weren’t for that cretin humming to herself on the other side of the room, he and Lisette would have their satisfaction right now. He’d never been so sure of anything before.

The simple sensuality of warm, wet wool in Lisette’s hands was more seductive than the most costly sybaritic pleasures in the universe. Oh, the sweet agony to be brought to this point and not be able to complete it.

Washing and rinsing and washing again, it seemed likely that they could draw out the bathing ritual all day. Ashur was willing to try, but at the creak of that blasted door, Lisette deftly flipped the sheet back over him, wrung out the cloth in the basin and coolly announced, "There, all done," just as Lady Stafford entered the chamber. Was she so fine an actress as that, or was he manufacturing the depth of her desires out of his own?

Forcefully, Ashur rammed his feelings away, putting on his best indifferent public face. "Thank you, Mistress Weston," he said gravely. "I feel much better." Questioning doubt flashed across her face, immediately replaced by demure meekness as she turned toward her future mother-in-law.

"All done, then, eh?" Lady Stafford said. "Maisy!" she shouted when she saw the maid sitting in the corner. "You lazy scamp. I’ll give you a whipping if you’re not on your feet this instant." The maid scrambled up, scurrying forward to her mistress. "Get yourself into Mistress Lisette’s room and pack up her things." Maisy hurried toward the door. "And mind you, be neat about it," Lady Stafford called after her.

Lisette looked puzzled. "Milady?"

Lady Stafford turned toward her. "That’s why I came to fetch you. My husband has changed his plans and will leave for the court at once. You’ll accompany him, of course. So hurry to take your leave of Geraint."

Ashur saw Lisette gulp and glance hastily at him. Then she bobbed a quick curtsy to Lady Stafford. "I shall, milady. Lord Ashur… may God keep you well."

"And you, mistress," he answered, not able to take his eyes off of her. She was leaving? And immediately? As her white gown swished, vanishing from his sight, Ashur realized what a lifeline she had been to him, the only one in this miserable time with whom he connected. His lust for her angelic form faded in importance to his need for her very presence. Once again Ashur felt cut adrift from all that he knew, alone in a very dark universe.

As the carriage jolted and Stafford Castle receded into the distance, a curious numbness came over Lisette, partly through lack of sleep, but there was something more. One moment she’d been caressing Ashur’s exquisite body, savoring the new and tantalizing sensations sweeping over her. The next moment she was offering her thanks to Lady Cicely, and bidding Geraint, her future husband, a fare thee well. At his father’s urging he’d kissed her cheek and called her ‘sweetheart’, but what she felt from him was relief to see her go as the company started on the long trip.

A moment later she’d called a frantic halt to the carriage, to Lord Stafford’s annoyance, to pull from a trunk the shirt she’d stitched for Ashur. Skirt billowing as she ran, Lisette dashed back to press it into Lady Cicely’s hands, imploring her to present it to him for her. Expression indecipherable, as always, Lisette avoided directly meeting Geraint’s eyes as she hurriedly handed over the shirt. As some consolation, Lisette kissed her ruby ring and waved to her betrothed in a gesture of fealty as the horses started again.

Her musings, as moth to flame, returned at once to the stranger. In the haste of their departure, she’d had no excuse, no chance to return to Ashur, to say a private farewell, to say… anything. In her mind she built a picture of that scene. He’d have offered to be her champion, swearing to her his undying love and devotion. He’d fight for her honor, carry her colors at tournaments, bring her trinkets and plead his love suit for only the slight hope of being rewarded by the chance to serve her further… her hero, her defender, her brave knight. The picture brought a faint smile to her face as she watched the last grim stone turret of Stafford Castle disappear from sight. No. Something wasn’t right with that image. A man such as Ashur would never settle for the trifling rituals of courtly love. No, he was different in a way she could not fully define. Somehow, she sensed, he’d not settle for such superficial tokens of what he really wanted… of what she wanted, as well.

Bewildered by everything that had happened since the night so short a time ago when she saw a falling star, Lisette simply felt weary. She wanted to curl up and sleep without dreams, to wind back the relentless flood of time to the easy days of her childhood when her life was simple and carefree. But it was not to be. Time was inviolable. There was no way to turn it back.