By Moonlight Wrought (Bt Moonlight Wrought) (10 page)

         “Now you see why I needed the wardrobe,”
she called out with a chuckle.

         “Yes,” Dirk said, looking around.  Like
Melissa’s room, there was no furniture, only the bed and a basket, evidently
the garment volcano, since
it
, too, was overflowing with clothing.  Dirk
noticed all kinds of beautiful garments, a dozen high-heeled shoes, hose of
every color, even a black cotton jumpsuit hanging from the mantle.  It looked
more like an assassin’s getup than something the woman there with him would put
on that delicate frame.  He heard Cinder operating the pump and the splashing
of water as it spattered into a wooden sink.  Dirk looked through the fireplace
and saw her legs on the other side, so he bent over and peered in, then stood
up and walked around. 

         Cinder was smelling Dirk’s shirt and
became startled when she saw him out of the corner of her eye.  She resumed her
pumping, laughing with embarrassment, a wonderful spritely laugh like the
ringing of small bells.  “I want to make sure it is clean,” she lied with a
blush.  Cinder looked at Dirk as she wrung out his shirt; he was himself
looking around the small room.  There was no table or room for one, just a two
foot deep shelf under which sat a bench.  If any meals had ever been taken in
that room, there was no evidence of it.  But, the kitchen did have a small
stove and a sink with a pump; not common in the older buildings where he and
Melissa lived; the structures which made up over half the buildings in the
city.  The residents of those apartments and homes had to go to a common well,
usually located in a hallway on the ground floor or in the basement, and fill
their kegs and water skins.

         “I bet you’re glad that I don’t live on
the second floor, huh?”

         “Why?” Dirk asked, turning to look at
her.

         “Because you would have had to work hard
to get it up,” she said, still chuckling to herself, though Dirk was not aware
if it was over the same humorous thing that had initiated her mirth, or if
something else had happened, since he had still not seen anything humorous up
to that point.

         “Melissa would have helped me, that’s
all,” he said, brushing off Cinder’s laughter, feeling it was at his expense,
and finding that, despite her strong charisma, he wanted to leave.

         “Is Melissa a friend of yours?” Cinder
asked, rinsing his shirt one more time.

         “Yeah.  She just started this week,” he
explained for no reason he could fathom.

         Cinder hung the garment over the sink
then turned to face Dirk, folding her arms under her breasts.  Customer and
deliveryman looked silently at each other, but their expressions were
descriptive enough to convey their thoughts.  To Dirk, maybe it would be easier
to give in to the desires of women than to keep resisting.  “This would be a
good time,” he thought, with Cinder clearly showing more than a polite interest
in him.  A lot of women had wanted Dirk, but none of them like Cinder.  And
Melissa had recently made him realize how enjoyable sex could be.  While Dirk
was uncomfortable with the dark-haired beauty, his slight anger at her subtle
giggling made him want to bed her rather than to avoid her as he avoided most
women, as if afraid of her.

         As if Cinder could read his mind, or
maybe Dirk made some unintentional invitation, she walked over to him, put her
hand against his chest then gently laid her face against its cool, damp
surface.  Dirk had not noticed how tall Cinder was until she stood there,
against him in her high-heels.  She seemed so tiny in her thin, elven
way—though he had no idea she was half-elven—that he just pictured her ‘small’.

         Cinder kissed his chest, licking the
moisture from his soft hair.  It exhilarated him; her tongue was wet and
incredibly soft and it made the hair on his neck stand up, sending chills down
his spine.  He looked down and watched her, but that was the last thing he
should have done if he truly wanted to leave.  But then, maybe he really
didn’t.  Cinder’s lips were like swollen red ribbons, her tongue, glistening
and pink.  Her hair fell over her shoulders and in front framed her breasts,
which were pressed up out of her dress, bound and displayed by her bustier. 
Dirk knew that he would be late getting back to work.  Wagon trouble again, he
thought, sounded as good as any excuse.

         Cinder took his hand and led Dirk out and
over to the bed.  She turned him toward her and placing her delicate hand
around behind his neck pulled him toward her and gave him a kiss he thought
could melt steel.  His knees trembled and he felt like he would fall.  Cinder
dropped her dress and stood there in her corset, undressing herself like
Melissa had done, but so very differently.  She sat, and then laid back on her
bed, oblivious to the clothing underneath her.  Her hair lay out and around,
indistinguishable from the dark bed cover, contrasting her fair, voluptuous
body.  Dirk looked at Cinder, undeniably moved, then set himself beside her. 
He only slightly wondered what a strange coincidence it was that he met the
only women who had ever
truly
moved him only a few days apart from each
other.  In time, that coincidence would matter little, and in that moment it
mattered not at all and flittered from his mind as quickly as it had come.

         The bell above the door rang and Olaf
Svenson emerged from the back to see who was calling on his business.  He wrung
his hands together nervously, studying Melissa as she browsed, carelessly
pulling the rain-soaked hood from her head.  She was carrying a dozen arrows
tied with a piece of string.

         “Ah, right over there,” Olaf exclaimed,
pointing to a table which held several quivers.  Melissa looked at him strangely,
his dark sunken and tired eyes, wondering how he knew, then walked over and
quickly picked one out, as well as a new belt to replace the old, frayed one
she still wore.  On her way to pay, Melissa eyed some of the other items, all
made by Olaf Svenson the leather worker:  clothing, animal collars and leashes,
tack, boots, packs and pouches, an array of whips, a few suits of stiff, boiled
leather armor, and a host of other sundry items.  Olaf moved toward Melissa,
not as if to speak with her but perhaps to secretly move up behind her.  Engrossed
in her examination, she did not notice his approach.  Then the bell rang again
and Olaf quickly returned to his counter.

         Another young woman entered the store,
this one seemingly not yet twenty years old.  She was lithe but strong, with
short, spiked blonde hair and sharp attractive features.  She wore a light mace
and a long curved knife at her belt.  Melissa and Olaf both watched her
absently as she too shook the rain from her cloak and smiled.  “Hello?” she
said curiously in reply to their gazes.  “I love this new store,” she said
spritely.  

         Melissa paid and turned to leave, nearly
bumping into the girl, who had moved up to the counter, a whip of nine tails
already in her hands.  Melissa stepped around her then out into the street,
heading back to Bessemer’s.  A few moments later, as Melissa was putting her
arrows into her new quiver, she heard a voice call out and she turned: 
following behind was the girl from Svenson’s, but the voice was not that of a
girl.  It was more mature, more commanding, not timid or quiet as one might
expect from looking at her.

         The sun shone down through the quickly
dispersing clouds and a rainbow appeared above.  The day grew warm and began to
burn the water away, as wisps of steam rose from the hot streets, so Melissa
opened her cloak and cast it over her shoulders in relief from the heat she
knew would be returning to the stifling streets once more.  The rain had been
heavy and torrents of water still rushed down the gutters from the noble
heights, the higher merchant and trade districts and north end of town,
sweeping the filth and garbage into the sewers.  It was there with the bright
sunshine reflecting from the white buildings and red tiled roofs that Andrelia
felt and smelled completely different; it was as lovely as it ever had been. 
To Melissa it almost matched the beauty of her farm back home; only because
Andrelia looked so gray in contrast at any other time, and because her latest
memories of home were so gray as well.

         “Wait,” the girl called and Melissa did,
finishing storing her arrows and sliding the string into her pouch, saving even
the most trivial things for possible later use.  “Hi.  Can I walk with you?”

         “Sure,” Melissa said with an unconcerned
shrug, “but I’m heading back to work.”  She began her trek once more.

         “Oh yeah?  Where do you work?”

         “Bessemer’s,” Melissa said, looking over
at the girl.

         “Oh?  Doing what?”

         “I take care of the horses...deliver
things sometimes.”

         “I thought maybe you were a mercenary or
a hiresword,” the girl said.  “A pretty one, but still...with the bow and all. 
You know?” she said, not wanting to insult Melissa and pointing to the great
bow Melissa carried over her shoulder.

         “That’s all right.  No offense.”

         “Maybe you’d be interested in working
with me.  My boss needs another person.”

         “Why me?” Melissa asked, looking around
with a nod and wave of her arm.  At least half-a-dozen armed men could be
seen:  some escorting robed merchants, others standing against buildings idling
their time, still others loading or unloading wagons, etc.

         “Well, we have three men and one other
woman.  You look like a nice person and all.  I mean, if they find another
man...well, I’d rather have another girl,” she stuttered.  “I didn’t say you could
have the job:  that would be up to my employer.  But I wanted to talk to you
and at least see if you were nice.  Are you interested?”  This girl could feel,
as Dirk had, that Melissa was someone who, just by looking at them, you
immediately knew would be your friend if you just got to know her; a sort of
kindred spirit.  There was definitely a draw between the two young women.

         “I don’t know.  What do you do exactly?”
Melissa asked, still walking along.

         “Nothing.  Actually, we guard this rich
map maker.  We have our own house, the five of us...six with you.  He supplies
our food and drink...it’s real easy.  The pay’s not excellent, but it’s better
than you’re making, I bet.  But the benefits with room and board really make it
worthwhile.  And guard duty consists of sitting in his mansion answering the
door, making sure that no one ‘gets him,’” she snickered.  “My name’s Fiona.” 
She held out her hand in greeting and though it was not something people, women
especially, in Stoneheim did often, Melissa grasped the smaller young woman’s
hand.  “Maybe you’d like to come and check it out at least.”

         “I don’t know.  I just got this job and I
work with this real cu...nice guy.  We’re friends and...”

         “You can still see him.  He can come
where we stay whenever you, or he, wants.  No one will care.  Just come and see
if you like it, unless you really don’t want to,” Fiona said with a shrug and
sly, devious look.

         “No, I’ll come,” Melissa added quickly. 
“It can’t hurt, I guess.  I’m not afraid to make more money.”  

         As they walked Melissa wondered if maybe
being away from Dirk during the day might help their affection blossom.  She
felt that their relationship had turned kind of awkward.  It was strange being
friends and coworkers all day and lovers at night.  She was willing to give up
working with him, expanding on the romance and letting the coworker arrangement
slide.  This might be the perfect opportunity.

         Dirk had not told Melissa what happened
the day he delivered the wardrobe, naturally.  He thought about that afternoon
as little as possible, almost as if by doing so he could make it have not
happened.  He found it quite difficult to be with Melissa all day, to face her
brusqueness for long hours of work, then her warmth all too briefly at night. 
He was confused and had no idea whether it was more fun to be with her as
friends, or as lovers. He treasured both but could not see how they could
coincide.  And if that was not complicated enough, there was Cinder…

         The half-elf stood on Bessemer’s door step,
kicking her heel against its corner.  Presently, Dirk came out and she eagerly
took his arm.  “I have to get cleaned up first,” he warned as they began to
walk.

         “That’s fine,” said Cinder. 

         It was the first time Cinder had seen
Dirk since he delivered her wardrobe three days earlier.  He had sent her a
note just the day before, asking if she would like to go to dinner.   She did. 
Their sex had been astounding, just short of spectacular.  Despite her three
dates with other, older men since, Dirk was all Cinder thought about.  If there
had been one downfall to their meeting, it was that Dirk had left her too
soon.  Cinder could love all night, and often liked to, but Dirk returned to
work after only a few hours with her.  But that was fine too, for Cinder.  Their
brief encounter had held her, albeit anxiously, until that day.  Dirk was a
human, if there ever was one, who would be of interest to one of elven blood. 
He had a gentle spirit, which would appeal to the loving children of Nature,
but he had a fire, a drive, and a physique found only in humanity.  He was the
perfect combination of brawn and heart to a half-Faerie looking for a human in
whom she could trust.