Amber and Iron - Margaret Weis [1]
Three months passed, and Timothy kept his promise. He’d actually turned down a couple of his previous lovers, telling them he was a changed man, and it seemed that he was, for he truly adored his son and felt nothing but gratitude and love for his wife.
Then one day Lucy Wheelwright came into his shop.
Though he came from a family of tanners, Timothy had been apprenticed to a cobbler and now made his living making leather shoes and boots.
“I want to know if this shoe can be mended,” Lucy said.
She placed her foot on a short-legged stool and hiked up her skirt well past her knees to reveal a very shapely leg and more beyond that.
“Well, Master Cobbler?” she said archly.
Timothy wrenched his gaze from her leg to the shoe. It was brand new. He looked up at her. She smiled at him. Lowering her skirt, she bent over, pretending to lace her shoe, but all the while providing him a view of her full bosom. He noticed an odd mark over her left breast—it looked like a kiss from two lips. He pictured placing his own lips on that spot, and he caught his breath.
Lucy was one of the prettiest girls in Solace and also one of the most unobtainable, though there were rumors …
She was married, like Timothy. Her husband was a big brute of man and intensely jealous.
She straightened, tugging her chemise back in place, and glanced at the door. “Could you work on the shoe now? I really have a need for it. An aching need …”
“Your husband?” Timothy coughed.
“He’s away on a hunting trip. Besides, you could bolt the door so that no one interrupts you in your work.”
Timothy thought of his wife and his child, but they were not here and Lucy was. He rose from his bench and went over to the door, shutting it and locking it. The hour was almost noon; customers would think he’d gone home for his midday meal.
Just to be safe, he led Lucy to the storeroom. Even as they made their way through the shop, she was kissing him, fondling him, undoing his shirt, her hands fumbling at his breeches. He’d never known a woman so ardent, and he was consumed with passion. They tumbled down on a pile of leather skins. She wriggled out of her chemise, and he kissed the place on her breast over the strange birthmark of two lips.
Lucy put her hand over his mouth. “I want you to do something for me, Timothy,” she said, breathing fast.
“Anything!” He pressed his body close to hers.
She held him at bay. “I want you to give yourself to Chemosh.”
“Chemosh?” Timothy laughed. This was a most inopportune moment to be discussing religion! “The god of death? What made you think of that?”
“Just a fancy of mine,” said Lucy, winding his hair around and around her finger. “I’m one of his followers. He’s a god of life, not death. Those horrid clerics of Mishakal say such bad things about him. You mustn’t believe them.”
“I don’t know.…” Timothy thought this all very odd.
“You want to please me, don’t you?” said Lucy, kissing his ear lobe. “I’m very grateful to men who please me.”
She moved her hands down his body. She was skilled, and Timothy groaned with desire.
“Just say the words ‘I give myself to Chemosh’,” Lucy whispered. “In return, you’ll have unending life, unending youth, and me. We can make love like this every day if you want.”
Timothy wasn’t a bad man, just weak. He had never wanted any woman as much as he wanted Lucy at that moment. He wasn’t all that religious, and he didn’t see the harm in pledging himself to Chemosh if it made her happy.
“I give myself to Chemosh … and Lucy,” he said teasingly.
Lucy smiled at him and pressed her lips on his left breast over his heart.
Terrible pain shot through Timothy. His heart began to beat wildly and erratically. Pain burned through his arms and down his torso and into his legs. He tried frantically to push Lucy off him, but she had incredible strength and she pinned him down and kept pressing her lips on his chest. His heart lurched. He tried to scream, but he didn’t have the breath.