Ted Bell - Warlord

"Yes."

She took him deeply into her mouth and closed her lips around him and the sensation caused Hawke to arch his back and moan involuntarily. Any doubts about how deeply he had missed this part of his natural life fell away like a shedding of old skin. He would mourn his beloved Anastasia until the day he died. But were the living served by a lifetime of abstinence in honor of the dead?

This is not a betrayal.

"Alex," she said, lifting her head, her breathing heavy and somewhat hoarse, "I know all this is strictly against our rules."

"It is."

"But I need you inside me. I have waited a lifetime."

"And life is so short."

"Are you going to make me beg?"

"No."

"Please," she said. "Please. Now."

Hawke stared at her face, those large dark eyes luminous even in the waning blackness of the room, and said the first words that came into his head.

"I would be honored."

He entered her slowly and gently and the two brokenhearted people made love until exhaustion drove them to sleep.

In the early morning he woke to find her lying on her side staring at him.

"Top of the morning," he said sleepily.

"Top of the morning."

"Staying for breakfast?"

"Can't. England and Lord Malmsey await me. Desperately."

"Know the feeling."

"Alex?"

"Yes?"

"Before I go, I need to ask you one last question. All right?"

"Fire at will."

"Have you any possible idea of why we were both made to suffer such cruel losses? Anastasia, Tony, your dear parents?"

"Yes, I think I do."

"Tell me."

"Quite simple, really."

"Please tell me."

"God sinned."

LOVELY SPOT, MR. SMITH," FAITH MCGUIRE allowed, rolling onto her side and propping her pert little chin into the palm of her tiny little hand. It was chilly in the dappled shade of the overhanging trees, the late afternoon sunlight filtering down to the green grass but not providing much in the way of warmth. Smith was gazing out to sea, giving her his best side, and she gazed unashamedly at his profile. He was a handsome one, all right, just like she vaguely remembered from the pub the night before.

They sat on a small shady bluff overlooking the ponderously heaving blue Atlantic, gazing at a small island just offshore. He'd brought a blanket and a jug of wine. Tools of his trade, Smith thought, smiling to himself. A jug of wine, a loaf of bread, and thou. Isn't that what the poet said? And don't forget the knife. He had not forgotten the knife…

"Whatever was it the Bard said about a summer day?" he asked.

"Silly boy. I've no earthly idea what he said or didn't say. Never even heard of him. And, move your hand, please, sir."

"The Bard was a poet, my pet," he said, stroking her rounded thigh through the thin cotton of her white skirt with the pink polka dots. She hadn't dressed for the day. She had dressed for him.

"A poet, eh? Do you know one of 'em, then? You being such a fancy schoolteacher and all. One of his poems, I mean."

"I know them all, of course. The sonnets, at least. Would you care to hear one?" He moved his hand up and cupped one of her heavy breasts.

"I'd blooming adore it, I would. No one's ever told me a poem before."

"I'll tell you one in a bit, but first, lean back and let me look at you."

A swath of dark gold hair fell across her forehead, hiding one eye. He pushed it gently away. He looked deep into her pale blue eyes. Had she known what he was looking for, she would have run for her life.

He stared at her as he slipped his hand inside her blouse and began to fondle her breasts.

"Do you see what I see?"

"I see some of me very most private buttons being unbuttoned is what I see, sir. And I ain't that kind of lass so I will thank you very kindly to-"

"But you said you loved me."

"Right. Love, he says. A pint or three after we was introduced last evening, you'll remember."

"I remember everything, dear girl. It's my private hell."

"How you do go on. Still. I'm saving meself, I'll have you know. So don't get any fancy ideas. I'm Catholic, y'know. We wed 'em afore we bed 'em, as me sainted mum says."

"I know that. But I love you, Faith McGuire. In my way."

"Now, who said anythin' a'tall about love?"

"You did. Last night in Belfast, at Bittles Bar."

"That was just Arthur talking."

"Arthur?"

"Arthur Guinness." She giggled. "Do you get it? Guinness? Talking? It's a common enough pub joke."

"Bit of a wit then, are you, darling?"

"Oh, go on."

"I mean it."

"You'll take your hands off me if you know what's good for you. You heard of Billy McGuire? That's me older brother. A right knee-capper he is, too. You dinna want to be on the wrong side of 'im, I'll tell you."

"How many men has he killed? In Londonderry? I think you said his garrison was in Londonderry last night? Yes?"

"Billy doesn't say much about the regiment. Against rules and regs, he says."

"His regiment. That's the Prince of Wales's Own Regiment of Yorkshire? Infantry, isn't that right?"

"Like I say, he don't say much."

"Too bad about that eighteen-year-old British soldier shot by a sniper last week. On foot patrol in the Creggan housing estate. Your brother tell you about that, did he?"

"You ask a lot of questions for a man taking a girl for a picnic. How do I know you ain't IRA? A bloody Provo, right? Is that what you are?"

"Don't be a silly girl. I'm just naturally curious, I suppose. I happened to be present when the soldier was shot. I was the only eyewitness to the shooting in point of fact. I know precisely who killed him. Know him quite well, in fact, watch him shave every morning."

"Listen. We don't talk about such things in my family. It's dangerous. And we especially don't talk about such things to strangers."

"I want to ask you a very serious question."

"Then ask."

"Would you marry me?"

"Me? Marry you? Barmy."

"Would you?"

"Never."

"Why not?"

"We're from two different worlds. We got nothing in common."

"Two different worlds," he said, a brief glint of bright red anger flashing in his dark eyes. He'd looked away just in time. She hadn't seen it.

"As different as two can get. Look, I don't want you to think I've anythin' against yer kind. But, really, it's just not thinkable. I think you're as handsome a bloke as ever there was, but-"

"But what?"

"A bit old for me, I'd say, Mr. Smith. Unless you were very, very rich of course. But you're only a poor schoolteacher. Or so you say, anyway."

"Would you like to row out there to Mutton Island? It's not that far."

"I told you I would. Going with a big strong fella such as you, aren't I? It's a haunt, y'know, that island is. Sure it is. Beasties. Goblins and banshees. When I was a wee one, I heard stories of people going out there. And never coming back."

"I'll take care of you, don't worry."

"It's what you promised. Show me the ruins, you said. The old Norman watchtower and the abandoned schoolhouse. And the graveyard."

"Of course. I'll get the wine, you button yourself up and wrap this blanket round, it's getting quite cold. Storm front coming. My boat is the pretty little blue one down there on the beach."

"Are you sure it isn't too rough, the water? I can't swim a stroke."

"It's only half a kilometer across the strait. I think I can handle it. Let's go."

MUTTON ISLAND ROSE FROM THE SEA to a height of 110 feet. It was covered in wind-whipped grasslands and surmounted by the ruins of an ancient settlement that still stood at the western end. It had been periodically inhabited since prehistory, and the legendary "Children of Lir" had spent their last three hundred years on the island. They were now spending eternity in the island's ancient graveyard.