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From: nostrumo@nienor.s.bawue.de (Nostrumo)
Subject: TG: "Milady's Wiles"   by Brandy Dewinter  (14/22)
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Hi.

  This is the latest story of Brandy DeWinter. A story about war and
the casualties of war.

  As always: I DIDN'T write this story and haven't any claim to it. If
you have some useful hints or some good comments, your mail is welcome.
Flames, you know, will be piped to /dev/null.

  If you are an author and wish to remain anonymous or just try to
avoid the replies to your work. I offer you the chance of posting your
stories and collecting the response for you. This offer only stands
for story postings and for nothing else.

Enjoy the story.

Ciao
	Nostrumo

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> cut here with a sharp knife <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
Milady's Wiles
by Brandy Dewinter


Chapter 14 - Winterfair Day

     If the trip to North Vale had been a saga of increasing discomfort, 
the trip back to Stalwart Guard was an odyssey of unbearable torture.  
The storm that had been the trigger for Strane's murder had been expected 
to blow through and allow a few more days of moderate weather.  Instead, 
the clouds had lowered even further and the temperature had dropped low 
enough that only the continued rain kept frost from forming.

     It was apparent the next morning that we would never make it all 
the way back in our carriage.  Instead, we rode horses.  Baron Spencer 
provided sturdy carts for our baggage, including the body of Strane pic-
kled in alcohol and packed in a keg.  

     I knew beyond doubt that when the time came for me to pay for my 
sin of murder my penance would be more of this trip.  Unending rain caused
unending mud that spattered everywhere on this unending journey.  The 
itches under my maiden's lover that had been irritating on the trip out 
and constantly troublesome in the ten days we had spent in North Vale 
became a screeching demand for impossible attention with each jolt and 
stagger and slip of my horse as we forced our way along a road turned to 
glue.  

     The trip out took four days.  The trip back took eight, and even 
then it only ended because we required grooms to hold lanterns in our 
path so that we could reach the gates of Stalwart Guard long after dark.  
No matter how tired we were, and I was so exhausted I had to be helped 
down from my saddle, Mother knew nothing was more important that relief 
from our steel prisons.  She had the water heated even as we were entering
the gates and I slipped into the warm embrace before saying a single word.
Julia was not far behind.  It was the only time in my whole masquerade 
that I couldn't be troubled to open my eyes to look at her slender form 
when she slipped into the water.  

     Mother had even provided brushes, stiff enough to assuage the screa-
ming itches without being hard enough to damage our already-distressed 
skin.  I scrubbed all the places I could reasonably reach then began to 
work on Julia's back.  She returned the favor as soon as the worst of her 
own torments had been relieved.  Then we slipped down in to the heavenly 
warmth and tried not to fall asleep lest we drown.  

     "An hour ago I would have sworn that I never wanted to be wet again,"
I mused.

     "An hour ago, I was just swearing," Julia replied, humor re-entering 
her body with the life-giving heat from the bath.

     Mother began to wash my hair.  She clucked and worried about the 
damage that the bad weather and limited cleansing had caused, but nothing 
was worth worrying about right then.  

     Julia's hair was in no better shape but it responded to Mother's gen-
tle ministrations, too.  While for Julia it was humor, a sign of returning
life in me was my interest in Julia's form as she leaned her elbows 
against the edge of the tub.  She saw my gaze, even if Mother did not (or 
at least pretended not to notice), but this time her grin and wink indi-
cated pleasure in my pleasure and appreciation.  I think she got out of 
the tub more slowly than was her typical practice, offering me finger-span
by finger-span of additional exposure.  

     If the water had been any shallower, I think my response would have 
showed regardless of how low I settled into the slowly-cooling tub.  It 
didn't help that Julia wore a thick, warm robe rather than her usual thin 
silk.  At least, it didn't help enough.  After all we had been through 
together, after all the indignities that circumstances had forced us to 
weather together, after sharing a murder, for the love of God you would
have thought I'd be past embarrassment at my physical response.  

     Well, you wouldn't have thought it if you looked.  The bright color 
on my cheeks was matched by a darkly red evidence of excitement that 
wasn't going to diminish any time soon.  

     Mother noticed.  How could she not?  "Dear, that's not going to be 
very comfortable."

     "I believe I am aware of that," I said tightly.

     "The palace hairdresser will simply not hear of you going to bed 
with wet, tangled hair so you both have to suffer his ministrations before
you retire," she explained.  "Considering the condition your hair was in 
when we started cleaning it, I suspect he is right.  But that means we 
need to continue or it will be dawn before you even get to bed."

     Continue.  Such a simple word for such a trial.  Still the maiden's 
lovers had been cleaned while we bathed, the residue of a month of con-
stant contact with our bodies removed and the inner side oiled.  The 
silken tubes that had been our only protection from the steel were ruined 
beyond repair, but at least these could be replaced with new ones now that
we were home.  Once I was ready to take my part in our activities, Julia 
removed her robe.  Mother provided Julia and I with sharp blades to remove
the body hair that had grown surprisingly little under our devices.  Oil 
applied directly to the skin aided a moisturization that had been des-
perately needed.  When we had completed all the preparation steps we could
reasonably include, Mother began the laborious task of lacing us into our 
tormentors.  

     Actually, the fit was not too bad this time.  My waist had shrunk 
considerably and what fat I had had redistributed to hips and bosom.  
Even without the maiden's lover I might be able to wear Mother's gowns.  
Now why was that desirable?  

     Only in one area was the fit distressingly uncomfortable.  However, 
as it had done so frequently before, that very discomfort eventually 
brought about a reduction in the distress, leaving it compressed enough 
to minimize further problems. 

     Once we were safely locked away Mother handed us robes and we were 
led into the outer chamber.  The palace hairdresser insisted that we 
spend what was left of the night with our hair wrapped around short, 
thick wooden pegs, but by then we were too tired to care.  Someone, I 
never knew who, practically carried us to bed and I fell into a pit so 
deep that minor distractions like wooden pegs and compressed intimacies 
had no relevance.   

     The next morning they had relevance.  Of course my maiden's lover 
always had relevance in my life.  Even the change in my body shape that 
made it less painful did nothing to relax the stiffness at the bosom and 
the rigidity in the nether plate.  What was less expected was the effect 
the wooden pegs had on my hair.   Great, bouncing curls remained behind 
when they were removed the next morning.  With these energetic yet de-
lightfully feminine shapes to build upon the palace hairdresser provided 
us with unfettered hair that was nonetheless formally styled.  A new style
of formality, to be sure, but wonderfully elegant.  Gowns to take advan-
tage of this energy were selected and we went to the throne room with 
joyful exuberance.  

     Neither the joy nor the exuberance lasted very long.  Lyonidas held 
an inquisition into the death of Strane that was frankly hostile.  Ac-
tually, Lyonidas was silent while Reynal was hostile.  He started in on 
Julia as soon as Mother took her seat.  

     "What were you doing when Strane met his untimely death?"

     I interrupted her response.  Perhaps a month in charge of an indepen-
dent party had awakened within me a sense of responsibility.  Whatever the
reason, I would not stand idly by while someone attacked one who had been 
part of my group.  

     My eyes locked on Lyonidas while I spoke, though my words were for 
Reynal.  I did not use the simpering voice I had once used.  Instead, I 
spoke in calm, reasoning tones, using only the musical animation of a 
feminine voice to force Reynal to accept my intercession.  

    "Excuse me, General, but could you explain what is going on?"

    He sputtered a bit, but I still looked only at Lyonidas.  In his eyes 
I saw pain and embarrassment and guilt, and even a bit of fear that I knew
was not for himself.  I felt the power of the white-cold mind building 
within me and I knew I could use any of those seams in the tapestry of his
mind to insinuate suggestions he already appeared half ready to accept.  I
would not, though.  This was not a time for coercion, not of Lyonidas.  I 
let a memory of our last kiss float up into my own eyes, balanced by 
sadness of my own that one who had been so close to me would trust me so 
little.  

     General Reynal was speaking by this time and I let his words become 
part of my conscious thoughts.

     "We are trying to get to the bottom of what happened to Lord Strane."

     I finally let my eyes move from Lyonidas to Reynal and asked, "Have 
you read the reports we provided?"

     "Yes, but there are several irregularities," claimed Reynal.

     "Which things in the reports, specifically, seem irregular?" I asked,
still speaking in dulcet tones of sweet reason, eminently ready to help 
in any way that I could.  As long as that did not involve interrogation 
of my people directly.

     "I don't believe Strane would just slip on some steps and fall hard 
enough to break his neck!" Reynal declared.

     "Have you inspected Lord Strane's body?"  I was finding that the 
Queen's technique of asking questions instead of answering them was pretty
effective.

     "Yes, and the damage is not right."

     "His neck is not broken?"   This earned him the derision of an ele-
gantly lofted eyebrow.

     "No, it is broken, all right, but not from a fall," Reynal asserted.

     "Have you seen the steps at North Vale?"

     "No, but, . . ."

     I interrupted again, "Then on what basis do you make that claim?"

     "Strane would not have fallen.  He was the most sure-footed rock 
climber in High Canyon."

     "Did you know he often went to that balcony with Lady Julia?"  Now I 
was controlling the questions, sending them into a tangent that Reynal had
not expected.

     "Yes, but . . ."

     "Do you know what they would do on that balcony?"  This brought a 
nice gasp from the audience in the throne room.

     Reynal just snorted, but my eyes were back on Lyonidas, and I spoke 
again before Reynal formed an answer.  

     "It seems that some men of High Canyon visit Achaiean maidens on high
balconies.  Sometimes they kiss."  I let pain that was only too real into 
my eyes as I said this and then let my eyes drop when I continued.  
"Sometimes, I suppose, the men of High Canyon even enjoy this experience 
enough to look forward to doing it again."

     I sighed, still looking down, then with a shrug I looked up and care-
fully avoided Lyonidas' eyes.  "Though I wouldn't know about that.  Still,
Lady Julia has told me that Strane kissed her the night before.  He seemed
most anxious to return with her to the balcony that evening, though it was
raining.  She hesitated at the doorway and slipped."

     Now I turned to look Reynal directly in the face and gathered up the 
power of the white-cold mind to full purpose.  My voice hardened with 
righteous anger as I continued, "General Reynal, Strane was a man whom my
closest friend found appealing enough that she would consent to his kiss.
He gave his life to protect her from injury.  I don't care whether he was 
from Achaiea, or High Canyon, or some place we've never heard of, that was
a noble gesture.  I will not have you degrade the nobility of an honorable
man with accusations formed from ignorance.  You have the sworn statements
of your own men that this was an accident.  You have the sworn statements 
of Achaiean nobles that this was an accident.  Will nothing satisfy you 
except more blood?"

     I had reinforced this claim with all the power of the white-cold mind
that I could call upon.  Reynal wanted to believe that Strane had died a 
noble death rather than an ignoble one.  His only possible murderer was 
Julia and the thought that a mere girl could have beaten a warrior of High
Canyon was distasteful to him.  With these existing desires to build on 
Reynal was no longer a problem even as I finished speaking.  

     Lyonidas was another matter.  I refused to use the special powers 
of my mind on him.  I don't know why, but I would not extend the lie I was
living to even greater deceit.  Instead, I looked at him then moved to 
kneel at his feet.

     With head bowed as though to the executioner's axe, I offered, "If 
only blood will satisfy you, then take mine.  No one is more responsible 
for his death than me."  

     Sometimes the best way to lie is with the absolute truth.  The con-
viction in my voice needed no special enhancement since it was true.  
Regardless of the falsehoods I had showered on Reynal, I had not lied to 
Lyonidas.  And so I had not had to use the power of my mind to impress on 
him belief in a lie, however desirable.

     His large hands reached down to me, one to cup my chin and gently 
force me to look up, another extended in an offer of support in rising.  I
let my hand accept his offer and let him help me to my feet.

     Though I had not used any powers beyond those available to all women,
still there was conviction in his eyes as great as that I had imposed on 
Reynal.  

     "Let there be no more talk of this," Lyonidas pronounced.  "Strane 
died in an accident and no further pain will change that fact.  Come, 
let us all take an early lunch and have you tell us of your journey."

     He glanced at Reynal for acceptance but that was already in place.  
Though it would have been more proper for Lyonidas to escort Mother, he 
did not relinquish his hold on my hand and we walked to the dining hall 
together.  Neither Mother nor Julia had said a word in the inquisition, 
though both wore small smiles of gently surprised appreciation for the way
things had turned out.  

     The rest of the day went much better.  Julia's sharp wit found humor,
now that it was in the past, in things that had been impossibly unpleasant
at the time.  It seemed that each clod of mud that had hit me in the face 
had been deliberately aimed by a particularly accurate horse, coinciden-
tally the one that she was riding.  She, on the other hand, had stayed 
pristinely clean throughout the journey, though she had slipped in unno-
ticed since the drenched woman on the horse next to me had clearly been 
someone else, not the elegant Julia.  

     While she was entertaining the dinner guests, Lyonidas leaned over 
and whispered to me, "Did you visit any balconies while you were there?"

     I nodded, a small smile playing at my eyes.

     "Did you visit them with anyone?"

     This time I shook my head in negation.  I could see the humor in 
his eyes, the promise that I had once wanted so much.  Yet now I only 
wanted Julia's kisses, right?  Why did the smile on his lean face interest
me so much?  Why did my breath get short at the thought of standing once 
again on a balcony with Lyonidas?  

     I felt the flush building in my cheeks even as I pointedly leaned 
back to listen to Julia's latest story.  After a moment, when I glanced 
back, Lyonidas was still looking at me with that humor in his eyes.  I 
couldn't meet his gaze.  I let my own glance slip downward to study the 
frilly cuff on my elegant gown until the corner of my awareness absorbed 
that he had leaned back into his own seat.  

     There was no chance to find out what balcony excursions he might have
wanted that week, nor the next.  The autumn storms had come in earnest for
that year, making all exposed parts of the castle too unpleasant for noc-
turnal exploration.  Instead, after supper I would retire to my rooms, to 
my music, to my studies, to my painting.  Usually I would play for a while
before turning to quieter pursuits.  After my room had fallen silent one 
evening Minah knocked discreetly, then entered.

     "You play very will, Highness," she said.

     "It's nice that you think so," I smiled in return.

     A conspiratorial grin lit her face as she said, "Oh, I'm not the only
one who thinks so."

     She was begging for a question, but she didn't have to beg too hard.
I gave her what she wanted immediately.  "Who?"

     "Well," she giggled like a happy child, "it seems Milord Regent has 
found occasion to wander by your rooms most evenings lately.  He stands 
outside while you play, then moves on when you stop."

     "Lyonidas listens to me play?" I needed confirmation.

     "Yes, Highness, nearly every evening."

     "Hmm," I mused, "then Minah, this is what I want you to do . . ."

     A few nights later tunes of High Canyon found there way into my prac-
tice sessions.  Minah had found someone who knew some of Lyonidas' 
favorites.  I had no idea how Minah found out what I needed, or who she 
asked, but she seemed to me to be the best spy in the two kingdoms, at 
least for matters like this.  

     It was only at the end of the month, nearing Christmas, when the rain
finally changed to softly-falling snow.  Behind this last front the air 
was crisply cold but the clouds were gone and there was no wind.  The 
contrast was wonderful.  The sun was bright and almost seemed warm.  The 
soft blankets of snow seemed clean and pure after ages of drear.  Clearly 
a celebration was in order.

     It even got brought up in Council, by Lyonidas who surprised us by 
attending.  His seat had been left empty to reflect his right to attend, 
but he hadn't bothered since the first interminable session on mundane 
matters.  Mother and I still brought our cats so Reynal found his duties 
took him elsewhere even on this occasion when Lyonidas attended.  

     Hugh of Sandars rose to announce the first issue.  Not surprisingly 
he had something boring on tap just in case a High Canyon noble chose to 
attend.  Before he even got started, though, Lyonidas gently interrupted.

     "Your pardon, Lord Chamberlain, but I wonder if I might take the 
Council's time to discuss an issue of some importance before you get to 
your scheduled topics?"

     Hugh wouldn't have looked more surprised if Lyonidas had reached 
out and tugged on his beard.  His mouth fell open just as though his 
beard truly had been pulled and he spluttered incoherently for just a 
moment.  Even Queen Selay didn't surprise him with topics.  If there 
were something she wanted discussed, she informed Hugh and got it on 
the schedule beforehand.  

     Still, there was nothing he could do but agree so he nodded jerkily 
and sat down. 

     I had been watching Lyonidas, after a brief glance to absorb the 
impact on Hugh, so I saw the warm gleam in his eyes before he spoke.  A 
grin that he couldn't quite contain started to show as Hugh spluttered to 
his seat, prompting a grin of my own that I tried very hard to hide from 
our honorable Chamberlain.

     Lyonidas stood as he addressed the Council, "Good members of the 
Council of Achaiea, you know that we of High Canyon do not celebrate the 
birth of your Christ.  Still, we do honor the solstice that represents the
turning of the seasons toward longer days.  I would like to suggest a 
holiday, a Winterfair, that we can both celebrate.  The weather has 
moderated at least for a while and I think the people could use a little 
warmth in their hearts to offset the cold."

     Would he have even cared six months ago when he first arrived?  Six 
months ago!  I had not even realized it had been so long.  The changes in 
Lyonidas were dramatic.  Where before he had been a strange man of High 
Canyon, with more wit and humor than others, now he was more a strange man
of Achaiea.  He knew of the workings of an agricultural society with 
specialized craftsman.  He knew of the benefits of restitution over 
punishment in justice.  Yet I had not realized he knew of the joy that his
father seemed to have denied in his own life.  There is a great difference
between a simple sense of humor and a joyful appreciation of God's world.
It seemed that Lyonidas had bridged that difference.

     As Lyonidas sat down, Hugh looked at Queen Selay.  Queen Selay nodded
to Hugh and said, "I think that would be a good idea.  Let us proclaim it
quickly before the weather changes yet again."

     Hugh nodded, recovering his dignity.  He had been afraid that 
Lyonidas was going to announce some onerous new tribute or demanding 
schedule for transferring the skills of our craftsmen.  Instead, the 
suggestion had been as light in enduring importance as the matters that 
Lyonidas believed the Council typically considered.  Our Chamberlain 
quickly assigned actions to those who would see that the preparations 
moved with good pace, then once again stood to announce the first official
item on his schedule for the meeting.  Lyonidas took this as his cue to 
excuse himself.  Our Regent probably misinterpreted the sigh of relief as 
he left.  It was not really because he left.  It was because with him gone
none of us had to listen to the deliberately pointless discussions that 
were meant to drive him away.  

     The Winterfair celebration was held on the second following day.  
The weather still remained clear.  Hugh took advantage of this by having 
outdoor activities in which most of the castle staff participated.  There 
was a massive snowball fight and for the first time warriors of High 
Canyon and of Achaiea joined sides against their officers.  And there 
was a contest for the most fanciful sculptures in snow.  

     I was looking down on the courtyard from my balcony when I felt a 
presence nearby.  Lyonidas had joined me.  I looked at him from within the
fur-trimmed cowl of my cloak.

     "What brings you up here, Milord Regent?"

     "You're not supposed to call me that, My Princess."

     "It is proper," I protested, but softly.

     "It is not," he denied.  "It is too distant.  More distant than we 
should be."

     I didn't know what to say, what to do.  A part of me was calling 
out to accept his offer of closeness, to cling to it, to build my life on 
that closeness.  Yet a part of me thought always of Julia, every minute 
of every day.  How could I resolve those two desires?  

     Instead of answering, I looked down at the courtyard, "The snow 
sculptures are very creative."

     Out of the corner of my eye I saw him lean against the parapet.  
"You're changing the subject," he claimed with a grin I could hear 
without looking.

     "Which sculpture is your favorite?" I asked.

     He chuckled at my obstinance, but he turned to look at them.  This 
turned out to be a bad idea, at least as it applied to the problem I was 
trying to avoid.

     "I think that one down there," he indicated with a pointing finger.

     The sculpture he selected was quite readily recognizable as a man 
and a woman.  The man was quite tall, though lean.  The woman was slender,
yet shapely.  One of her hands held the hem of her gown while one of his 
hands was around her waist.  They were clearly dancing, but dance was not 
the end of the story portrayed by the anonymous artist.  The figures in 
the sculpture were standing very close together and they leaned toward 
each other in a motion that would consummate in a kiss.

     "Now, who do you suppose the artist is portraying?" he mused, that 
grin still so apparent in his voice it needed no visual confirmation.

     "I don't know.  Perhaps the artist should add some color details," I 
replied.  "Don't you think the woman should have red hair?"

     "No," he said softly, "I do not."

     The grin was out of his voice, replaced by something not as simple 
to define.  I looked to see his expression and found him now standing 
close to me.  Very close.

     His hand slid softly through my golden tresses.  The overwhelming 
sensuality of it drew my eyes closed as though there were some hidden 
mechanism.  Generations of Achaiean women had reserved that touch for 
their lovers only and it spoke of love even more than a kiss.

     Or perhaps not, for in the next moment his lips were warming mine and
their touch was even more absorbing than his hand in my hair.  The hand 
that captured my waist and pulled me closer to him was hardly needed for 
my body swayed to conform to his even as my arms reached to embrace his 
shoulders.  

     Was it a good thing or a bad thing that my body now fit within my 
steel prison so much better?  Where before a moment of his kiss had caused
me to swoon, now my breath sustained me.  Barely.  My heart pounded with 
desperate needs that I didn't understand.  But it was not lack of air that
interfered with my breathing.  

     From some distant place I became aware of applause and good-natured 
shouting.  It seemed unimportant.  Nothing in the world was more important
than the touch of his lips but Lyonidas drew back just a little, though 
enough to turn his head.

     Down in the courtyard a crowd had gathered around the snow sculpture 
we had been admiring.  The artist, a young man who clearly had the ap-
proval of the group around him, was adjusting his figures.  Where before 
they had been only close to kissing, now the postures had been changed 
and the kiss was a realized promise.  The attention of the crowd clearly 
was encouraging him to make his creation match the reality on our balcony 
and he was ostentatiously studying us to make sure he had his composition 
correct.  

     "Oh, we should not be doing this!" I gasped.  Well, all right, the 
gasp was as much to get my breath back as out of any sense of propriety.  

     "Why not?" Lyonidas grinned.  "Didn't you enjoy it?"

     "But it is broad daylight!"

     "Yes, and a very fine day it is, too."

     "But there are people watching!"

     "Yes," he agreed, "and enjoying what they see.  Don't you want your 
people to be happy?"

     "Yes, but . ." his lips interrupted my protest and it died away, 
never to be resurrected.    


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