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Mairead awoke on a dirty stone floor, her head aching, and wondered blearily if she’d been drinking with Oghren again. When opening her eyes afforded a view of thick iron bars rather than the walls of some seedy tavern, however, memories of what had actually happened came flashing back. Sneaking into the estate. Rescuing the queen. The look on Arl Howe’s face as she twisted her sword into his gut.
Altogether quite a good day, really, up until someone’s huge armored fist had connected with the back of her skull.
“Fuck,” she hissed, rubbing the nasty knot that had risen. Ser Cauthrien and her lackeys certainly had an interesting take on how to treat a surrendering enemy, she thought grumpily. She was in the midst of resolving to kick the woman squarely in the shins when next she saw her—having always been a bit of a baby about headaches, and feeling phenomenally wrathful about having one so unjustly forced upon her—when a sudden recollection made her freeze.
“Bring the Wardens.”
What had they done with Alistair?
She sat up a bit too quickly, her abused head throbbing at the motion, and pushed herself to her feet somewhat more gingerly despite the panic knotting in her stomach. She knew exactly where they must have been taken, and Fort Drakon was notorious throughout Ferelden for its inhumane conditions—
A scream of pain rang out from a lower floor.
—and its liberal use of torture. Bile rose in her throat. Surely Loghain wouldn’t have the gall, not now that Alistair’s claim to the throne had been made public? Surely—
“Oh, you’re awake. I was starting to worry.”
Mairead let out a particularly colorful stream of oaths and whirled around to face her cellmate, not sure at that moment whether she wanted to kiss him or strangle him for not speaking up sooner.
“Damn it, Alistair, I was half convinced it was you down there,” she snapped, crossing the small room and frantically checking him over for injuries. Finding none, she let out a sigh of relief and hugged him with all her might. “Are you alright?”
“Fine,” he assured, returning the hug. “I just got shackled. I guess you looked like more of a threat.”
Mairead snorted, doubting that quite a bit. Certainly eviscerating her family’s murderer would have ruined any image her captors might have had of her being all sunshine and bunnies, but it hardly would have made her seem more intimidating than he. No, they’d simply been miffed at her for killing their boss, whereas they’d no particular quarrel with her taller, stronger companion.
And he was quite tall, she thought, letting her hands roam over his back. And strong. And… Sweet Andraste, had it really taken her this long to register that he hadn’t any clothes on?
“So... wait,” she said, channeling all her willpower into extricating herself from his embrace instead of grabbing hungrily at him. At all that warm, taut, golden flesh that smelled like sweat and leather and—she shook her head, which seemed to have mysteriously stopped hurting. “You willingly stripped down to your smallclothes? For a group of armed guards?”
Alistair looked embarrassed. “Well, I, er… hadn’t much of a choice, really…”
“That just hurts my feelings, Ali.”
He had a response to that, but Mairead didn’t quite catch it. Instead, she found herself focusing intently on a bead of sweat that had formed at his temple and was slowly trickling down his neck; moving along his collarbone; trailing over his chest past a small, flat nipple, and down his stomach, coursing through the valleys between those tight abdominal muscles; finally disappearing into the trail of tawny hair that ran downward from his navel and vanished below that last, infuriating scrap of fabric.
She bit back a whine, wishing dearly for just the briefest glimpse of what lay beneath. She’d felt it often enough through his clothes, hardening against her as she kissed him. It had taken weeks for her to convince him that he needn’t apologize when it did so, and longer still for him to overcome his shyness enough to let her grind her own aching need against it, working both of them into a panting, sweating frenzy.
That had been months ago, and still he retreated the instant she moved to unlace his pants or tried to guide his hand up her dress. He would retire to his tent for the rest of the night and she, defeated, would return to hers, her fingers working feverishly to bring herself the release he denied her. Never before had a man made her wait so long, and it was driving her mad.
Yet, she kept waiting, miserably enduring the longest dry spell of her life despite repeated reminders that she had an open invitation to Zevran’s tent if ever she chose to accept it, and were she having so much trouble in the pursuit of any other man, she surely would have. But for better or worse, she had fallen completely, stupidly in love with Alistair and couldn’t bring herself to give up on him, so wait for him she would.
Even if it killed her.
Which it might.
“Mairead!”
“What?” she replied, startled out of her reverie. She swallowed wetly—Maker, had she been drooling?
“What are we going to do?” Alistair asked in the exasperated tone of one who’d been asking the same question without response for quite some time. Mairead had the decency to feel slightly guilty about that.
“Oh. Yes. Right,” she said. “I… suppose we ought to get out of here.”
“I hope you have a plan.”
Mairead did have a plan. Several of them, in fact, all of which involved licking the sweat off his skin and proceeding from there, but she had a feeling that probably wasn’t the sort of plan he was looking for.
Trying her best to ignore the insistent throb between her thighs, Mairead forced her attention to their surroundings, and found herself at a loss for anything to work with. She knew they’d no hope of breaking through that huge, solid door, but… maybe some of the bars were loose? She grabbed one and tried to jiggle it. It didn’t budge.
“I’ve tried that already,” Alistair said. “Turns out they’re fairly serious about keeping people in.”
Mairead sighed and glared ruefully at the cell door. Oh, to be in jail with Leliana: they’d probably have been halfway back to Eamon’s estate by now. Not that she was complaining about the view…
Her eyes drifted back to Alistair, raking another longing gaze over his body before she caught herself. Really, that’s doing you absolutely no good, she scolded herself. She squeezed her thighs together tightly, but the added pressure only fed the ache and made her more keenly aware of how distractingly wet she was. She cleared her throat.
“The guard, then,” she suggested. “There must be a guard on rounds. Have you spoken to him at all? Does he seem terribly clever?”
“You mean Bob? Terrific fellow, we’re becoming fast friends. He’s quite fond of needlepoint and the color mauve.”
Right, ask a stupid question. “How often does he patrol this room?” she continued as though she hadn’t heard him.
“Every hour or so. He left just before you woke up.”
Mairead crossed her arms and chewed at her bottom lip as the first threads of a plan began weaving together in her head. She’d have to get the guard to open the door, incapacitate said guard, and then… well, she wasn’t too clear on where to go from there, but the first step was definitely getting the door open. “Right,” she said slowly. “Once he comes back, and I think I’ve got an idea. Not a particularly good one, mind, but it’s all I’ve got.”
The promise of any plan at all seemed good enough for Alistair, who nodded and took a seat against the wall, noticeably more relaxed than he had been, and Mairead couldn’t help thinking grimly that his unwavering faith in her abilities might soon prove something he would live to regret.
Provided they lived at all. And as she’d no idea how heavily guarded the prison was, nor the slightest clue how to go sneaking around a fort mostly naked and be inconspicuous about it, living was by no means a guaranteed outcome of this plan.
Which meant…
She moved to where Alistair sat, straddled him, and pressed her lips to his. He opened his mouth, possibly to protest, and she seized the opportunity to slip her tongue inside, stroking his ever so softly with her own, gently coaxing him to reciprocate her affections.
This was but the work of a moment. Soon enough she had him returning the kiss hungrily, his tongue warring with hers and—she noted with delight—a familiar bulge pressing against her. She smiled against his lips and slid a hand slowly over his chest and stomach, savoring equally the feel of his bare skin and the little groan of pleasure her touch drew from him.
Yes, love, she thought, raking her nails lightly through that little trail of hair, let me show you how good it feels without all that clothing in the way. She slipped her fingers into his smallclothes.
He immediately broke the kiss, and she withdrew her hand with a sigh. She met his gaze, prepared to concede defeat once again, but what she found there surprised her. Although his eyes held the same nervousness they always did when she pushed his boundaries, this time that nervousness was tempered with a dark, hot look she’d never seen there before.
“Is this part of the plan?” Alistair asked, his voice hitting a low, husky register that did all manner of lovely things to her. Mairead brought her hands up to cup his flushed cheeks.
“No, my darling,” she said, looking deeply into those beautiful eyes. “This is in case my plan fails and we die horribly.” She traced her thumbs over his cheekbones. “I won’t force you if you really don’t want it, but for the record I’d rather not shuffle off the mortal coil before I’ve had the chance to be with you.”
She wasn’t sure why she bothered saying it; after all, they’d been facing the possibility of horrible death together almost daily for the better part of a year and that certainly hadn’t hurried him up any. But for whatever reason, whether because the full weight of their situation had finally dawned on him or simply because she was on his lap in her skivvies, Alistair, to her eternal surprise, looked to be genuinely considering what she’d said.
“I don’t want that, either,” he said after a moment. “I-I mean to say that I do… you know, want to… do this with you. While we have the chance.”
Mairead smiled—for it seemed more appropriate to the situation at hand than letting out a cheer of joy—and kissed him deeply. She hummed approvingly when he slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her flush against him, relishing the feel of his naked skin against her own. Her lips strayed from his, trailing little kisses along his face until she reached his ear. She ran her tongue along the shell, feeling his breath hitch, and couldn’t help the mischievous giggle that escaped her lips.
“Don’t worry,” she whispered, letting her lips brush softly against his ear as her hands began a slow, adoring quest down his neck and over his shoulders. “I’ll be gentle.”
She pulled back slightly, putting enough room between them that her hands could continue lower, leisurely caressing his arms, chest, and stomach. She marveled at the strength that lay beneath that smooth, heated skin, thrilling at the pleasurable little noises he made as she enjoyed him. His eyes fluttered closed, a blissful sigh escaping his lungs as she peppered kisses over every bit of skin within reach of her lips while she worshipped him, committing each delectable contour to memory.
He gasped as her hands slid once more over his chest and she ceased her movements.
“Poor darling, did I scratch you?” she asked, trying to push aside the haze of desire enough to remember whether she’d been minding her nails.
“No, that’s not—I mean, it—it wasn’t pain.”
Mairead was confused for a moment. She studied his extremely red face, looked down at where her hands were splayed on his chest, and finally it dawned on her. A smile played at her lips and she let her fingers graze his nipples, eliciting another gasp as they tightened under her fingertips.
“Oh, Ali, I would have never known,” she said, teasing at the little nubs and earning a rather loud moan for her troubles. “A lot of boys aren’t sensitive here; it wouldn’t have occurred to me that you might be.” She alternated pinches and light strokes, watching him arch under her ministrations, his head thrown back, his breath coming quick and shallow. “Did you know that you were? Do you touch yourself like this?”
Alistair somehow managed to go even redder as he shook his head ‘no.’ Mairead laughed and leaned forward to mouth at the sweet spot she’d found on his neck some months ago, feeling him shudder under the combined sensations. She rocked her hips against his arousal, and if they hadn’t been in a cell already that sound he made surely would have gotten them thrown into one in the more decent parts of the country.
But, of course, they were in a cell. And wouldn’t it be a dreadful waste not to spend her time getting him to make that sound over and over again? She drew a fingertip down the center of his body, unable to contain her fiendish delight when the feather-light touch made him squirm. She nibbled tauntingly at his earlobe.
“And ticklish no less,” she purred. She softly traced little shapes over his stomach and made note of which areas were the most sensitive, fully intending to exploit that knowledge the next time he instigated a Templar-apostate spat at camp. And it was always him; she was smitten, not blind. She smiled to herself as the muscles jumped beneath her fingertips. Yes, what fun was simply scolding him when she could tie him up and tickle him until he begged for mercy?
Ah, but she’d gotten herself distracted.
Reminded anew that there were far more interesting things to attend to at the moment, she left her explorations and slid her hand ever lower until her fingers once again reached that last bit of clothing. His body tensed, and she paused in her quest. She toyed with the waistband of the garment and looked up, trying to gauge his expression but finding the mix of emotions on his face quite impossible to decipher.
“Tell me to stop, Ali, and I will,” she promised, kicking herself for meaning it. He shook his head, and she wasn’t entirely sure how to interpret that, either, until he leaned forward, captured her lips, and proceeded to kiss the living daylights out of her. She moaned, partly out of sheer relief, as his tongue plundered her mouth and his hands…
Wait…
Mairead started laughing and Alistair pulled back, the confusion on his face only serving to amuse her more. She rested her forehead against his, still giggling.
“Alistair? There are certain situations in which it’s possible to be too respectful of beautiful ladies,” she said. Shaking off the haze of need her touch had brought upon him, he followed her gaze down to his hands, still resting perfectly chastely at her waist. She gave them a light tap for emphasis.
“Well—I—ah,” he began, finding the glint in her eyes horribly detrimental to his ability to come up with an articulate response; the tongue running along her lips, even more so.
“You need some incentive, I think.” She rose suddenly to her feet. “I wish there was a way to do this with a little more ceremony, it being your first time and all, but stripping off sort of loses its mystique when you’re already down to your skivvies.”
He instinctively averted his eyes as she reached for the fastenings of her breast band, his heart pounding in his ears as the garment fell to the floor, joined a moment later by her smallclothes. She slid back into his lap, and his face grew even hotter at the feel of damp curls brushing against his legs. A soft hand cupped his cheek and turned him to face her again.
He gulped.
It wasn’t as though he didn’t know what women looked like naked. He’d seen enough paintings and desire demons to know exactly what to expect. And yet, nothing could have fully prepared him to have a naked woman sitting in his lap, stroking his cheek and smiling invitingly at him. Lightheaded, he let his eyes roam over his fellow Warden.
Maker, she was lovely, all lush curves and porcelain skin. Silky porcelain skin, he corrected himself as he slid his hands over ample thighs and hips to her softly rounded belly. He could hardly believe this was the same girl he’d seen take out beasts thrice her size. Where did she hide all that power under such delicate, yielding flesh?
He moved a hand up her ribcage to tentatively cup a breast, and the feel of it made him moan louder than she did. Sure, he’d always liked looking at them, but he’d never dreamed they’d be so wonderfully squishy! He brought his free hand up to squeeze the other one.
“Easy, love. They are attached to me.”
Alistair bestowed an apologetic kiss on the breast he’d treated too roughly and resumed with a softer touch. His explorations seemed to please her, and he found himself growing deeply curious as to what else might. Perhaps what worked on him would work on her as well? He swept his thumbs over those rosy nipples, and a hiss of pleasure provided the answer he sought.
Encouraged, he began toying with them in earnest, taking care to be gentle as he copied the attentions she’d paid to him, stroking and pinching and rolling. She pressed herself into his touch, letting out little mewls of pleasure which grew louder as he grew more confident in his pursuit. He worked up the nerve to seize a nipple in his mouth and she rewarded him with a moan, sinking her fingers into his hair as he licked and suckled at it.
Oh, and that smell! Warm and spicy and creamy and delicious, it was driving him mad, making him forget everything in the world apart from the woman before him. Mairead grasped his hand and he dutifully allowed her to lead it downward, skimming over her ribs and belly until it reached the thatch of dark hair at the juncture of her thighs—the source, he realized belatedly, of that intoxicating scent.
“Ali… please,” she begged, guiding his trembling hand ever lower. “Touch me.” Powerless to disobey, he delved between her folds.
Mairead whimpered; but for sheer force of will, he would have, too. Never had he imagined, never could he have imagined that this was what she would feel like, so unbelievably hot and slick beneath his questing fingers. Were women always so wet down there?
Curiosity and excitement far outweighing his shyness, he found himself tracing a fingertip around her entrance, drawing another whimper from her lips before slipping the digit inside her. She sighed, the hand still atop his guiding him to slide his finger steadily in and out of her sex. Virgin though he was, the act she had him mimicking was not lost on him, and his cheeks flamed at the thought of how that tight, wet heat would feel around his cock.
The organ in question, already painfully hard, grew even harder.
It felt like only a moment later that she redirected him, prompting him to withdraw his finger and move it to a nub of flesh nearby. Well, that wasn’t as much fun. What did it even—?
“Ah!”
Oh. So that’s what it does. That’s… quite a bit more fun, actually.
He teased at it, back and forth and in circles, taking note of what she seemed to prefer, her juices keeping the pad of his finger gliding easily over the stiffening flesh. She writhed above him, making helpless keening noises as he played with her, and part of him found it hilarious that it took no more than a well-placed fingertip to have his badass commander utterly at his mercy.
The rest of him was so turned on he could barely remember his own name. He worked her faster, entranced by the passionate response his fingers coaxed from her.
She was gripping his shoulders now, her nails digging into his skin as she bucked against his hand, panting and swearing. He drew a few more quick circles over her little nub and she let out a soft cry, her face contorting with ecstasy as his new favorite part of her body throbbed against his fingertip.
He hardly even had time to be proud of himself before she was crushing her mouth to his, kissing him desperately. Feeling suddenly and inexplicably possessive of the woman in his lap, he slid his arms around her and held her close, sighing into her mouth as she combed her fingers through his hair.
Her innocent touch quickly became less so, fingers trailing down his body once again until she reached the erection straining within his smallclothes. He groaned as she pressed her palm against it. Their eyes met, and she traced a finger along the waistband of the garment, silently asking his permission.
He nodded.
Mairead needed no more prompting. In the space of a second his own smallclothes had joined hers in a heap on the floor, leaving him completely bare before her. It briefly occurred to him that he ought to be embarrassed, but that train of thought was cut mercifully short by the appreciative moan she let out.
“Oh, Ali, to think that the Chantry intended to let this gorgeous cock go to waste,” she breathed. The object of her praise swelled at the compliment, and Alistair blushed all the more. He’d never really given it much thought, himself, but so long as she liked it…
She drew a fingertip up his length, and he frantically thought of darkspawn to avoid coming then and there. He gasped as she wrapped her hand around him and pumped slowly, her grip firm enough to let the skin slip easily over the hardened flesh beneath. He didn’t have to wonder how she knew to do it that way; she’d made it no secret that she’d had other men. And as insanely jealous as it always made him to imagine her with someone else, as she expertly stroked his cock there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that her wealth of experience was a good thing.
She withdrew her hand, and the whine of protest caught in his throat as she wetted her thumb in her mouth, holding his gaze all the while. She brought her hand back down, gently pulled back his foreskin, and slicked the moistened digit over the head of his cock. He moaned loudly, eyes rolling back in his head. Darkspawn, darkspawn, oh, Holy Andraste, darkspawn…
“Y-you need to stop that,” he panted, hips wriggling helplessly under the touch. “If you want me to last long enough for… for the rest.”
Mairead ceased her torment. Her heart racing with anticipation, she trailed wet kisses along his neck as she positioned herself above him.
“Are you ready?” she asked, trying her best to sound patient despite the hungry ache inside her. He said nothing, and for a desperate moment she thought he might change his mind. But finally he nodded, and she let out the breath she hadn’t noticed she’d been holding. “You’ll need to guide yourself in,” she instructed, and he quickly obeyed, both of them moaning softly as the hot tip of him pressed against her entrance.
It was stupid, she knew, to do this without a sheath. Sure, they may not have had to worry about disease as he was a virgin and she’d always been careful, but there was still the very real possibility of him putting a baby in her.
A delicious shiver ran through her at the thought, and Mairead realized quite abruptly that she was not remotely opposed to having Alistair’s baby. Indeed, very much the contrary, if the heat pooling in her groin at the mere idea of it was anything to go by. But this was an inconvenient desire to harbor in the midst of both Blight and civil war, so she quickly pushed images of golden-haired babies from her mind.
If—when—they made it out of here, she’d make sure to get her hands on some contraceptive herbs before they did this again. And if this one moment of recklessness did happen to leave her pregnant… well, that was just all the more reason to see the Blight ended as soon as possible, wasn’t it?
Her mind made up, she took him in, inch by inch.
And there were an awful lot of inches to be had. Even longer and thicker than he’d seemed in her hand, she swore she could feel him all the way to her womb once she’d gotten him fully seated inside her. And as pleasant as she knew that would be in time, she still found herself gritting her teeth against the sting of so large an intrusion.
“Is something the matter?” he asked breathlessly, and she realized she must have made a face. She kissed his eyebrow reassuringly, wiggling her hips a bit as she stretched to accommodate him. The little movement wrenched a groan from his chest.
“I just need a moment. It’s been a long time since I’ve had anyone, and you’re bigger than most,” she explained. A smirk played at his lips and she swatted him on the arm. “Oh, honestly, why are men always so pleased with themselves for that? It’s an accident of birth, not an accomplishment.”
There was probably some clever quip brewing in that head of his, but it was promptly abandoned in favor of That Sound as she started to move above him.
“Maker!” he cried, clutching at her waist.
Though the months of frustration had every fiber of her being aching to ride him furiously, she forced herself instead into a slow, steady rhythm. It was bad enough that the poor thing was losing his virginity on a cold, dirty floor in the most dreaded prison in the country, but she would never forgive herself if it didn’t at least last long enough for him to enjoy it.
And those delightful, unabashedly loud moans spilling out of him with each gentle roll of her hips left her with no doubts about the merit of restraint.
She might have teased him for making so much noise, were it not for the vague awareness that she wasn’t managing to be much quieter herself. Maker’s breath, she couldn’t remember the last time a man had filled her so well! All traces of the initial discomfort had gone, leaving the sweetest of pleasure in its wake, and though a little voice in the back of her mind warned that a guard wondering what all the commotion was about could walk in and get an eyeful at any moment, she had waited far too long for this to give a damn.
As if to concur with this particular line of reasoning, Alistair chose that moment to start bucking his own hips beneath her, trying—and failing—to match her movements. Mairead reached down and took hold of his hips, gently guiding him into a smoother motion. She smiled to herself.
Her Chantry boy had a lot to learn, and she was going to love teaching him.
Despite the calm, easy pace she’d set, it wasn’t long before his breathing had gone ragged, his grip on her waist tightening painfully as he clearly struggled to delay his completion. It was a noble gesture, though not one she intended to let him carry out. With any luck, they’d get out of here unscathed and he’d have the rest of his life to work on his control.
But that wasn’t what this time was about.
She quickened her pace, bringing her hands up to toy with his nipples.
“Come for me, Ali.”
He sunk his teeth into her shoulder, her flesh muffling a sob of pleasure as his cock pulsed within her. She kept moving until he calmed a bit, then settled in his lap, wrapping her arms around him.
“I’m sorry that I—I mean, I should’ve been able to…” he began. Mairead could wager a fairly good guess at where he was going with that, and she shushed him, pressing soft kisses along his neck and shoulder.
“My sweet darling, you’re not my first virgin. You lasted a lot longer than I thought you would.” She couldn’t tell whether Alistair believed her or just took it as a white lie, but regardless, her words had the desired effect. He relaxed, slipping his arms around her waist and sighing.
“Oh. Oh, that was…” He shuddered and squeezed her tighter. “Oh, Maker.”
“Mmmhmm,” she agreed.
He sighed again, nuzzling into her neck. For a while they were silent, savoring the simple pleasure of holding each other close as their breathing and heart rates slowly returned to normal.
“I, er… love you, you know.”
“That might be your cock talking,” she pointed out, giving the softening flesh a squeeze with her inner muscles. He gasped.
“Oh, it loves you very much. But… the rest of me’s been trying to work up the courage to say it for a while now.”
Mairead pulled back to look into his eyes, only to find him gazing up at her as though she were Andraste herself. Her heart did a little flip, and so help her, she must’ve had the world’s dopiest grin on her face, but she just couldn’t bring herself to mind. “I love you, too.”
“Phew! Thank goodness; that could have been an extremely awkward moment for me,” he said, pulling her down for a tender kiss. She kissed him back, and had nearly allowed herself to melt into the embrace when the sound of approaching footsteps reached their ears.
She reluctantly rose from Alistair’s lap, sighing mournfully at the sudden emptiness when he slipped out of her and cursing the uncanny ability of armed guards to kill a perfectly nice mood. She reached for the pile of abandoned undergarments—then paused, because what she had in mind would inevitably work better without them.
“Don’t defend my honor, alright?”
Alistair looked deeply puzzled by the request, but the guard’s arrival thankfully prevented him from asking any questions. Repeating a silent mantra of What would Morrigan do? Mairead approached the bars, immediately catching the guard’s eye.
Funny the way nudity worked.
“Excuse me, ser?” she called, doing her best to sound at once seductive and entirely harmless. “Could I have a word?”
Bob (what could she say? The nickname had stuck) made his way over. “If you’re not bleeding, I don’t care,” he declared in a harsh manner which would have been a bit more convincing had he not been leering at her quite so intently. Mairead smiled sweetly and batted her eyes.
“I don’t mean to bother you. I was just lonely…”
Bob’s gaze traveled down her body, fixing pointedly on the warm trickle of semen working its way down her thighs. “You certainly don’t look like you’ve been left wanting for company, lass.”
Damn. Of course they’d managed to get the only guard in the entire fort who would notice such a thing right off the bat. She scrambled for a way to save this increasingly hopeless looking plan.
“Well, yes, but I… seem to have worn him out, I’m afraid.”
She instantly berated herself for not coming up with something better than that, and was therefore more than a little shocked when Bob, apparently undaunted by the prospect of sloppy seconds, broke into a wide grin.
“Insatiable little slut, are you?”
“She is no such—”
“I will admit that my needs are greater than most women’s,” Mairead interrupted quickly, shooting Alistair a warning glance. Bob didn’t seem to notice.
“Is that so? I suppose I could keep you company,” he said. He let himself into the cell, and as he looked her up and down, Mairead crossed her fingers that this fantastic streak of sheer dumb luck held out long enough to see them back to the estate in one piece.
Then she threw all her weight into a punch, catching him squarely on the chin.
Down went Bob.
“Really?” she demanded of the unconscious heap of guard at her feet. “Well that’s just… I don’t know. Disappointing?”
“Yes, shame. Let’s wake him and demand that he put up more of a fight next time.”
“And we’ll be having no lip from you, Mr. I Can’t Follow Simple Instructions.”
“He insulted you, what was I supposed to—? Maker, you punch like an ogre,” Alistair observed, appearing beside her as she relieved Bob of his keys. Mairead chuckled.
“Feeling emasculated?”
“Strangely aroused, in fact.” He gave Bob a nudge with his foot, confirming that the man was still out cold. “Well, that’s it for the guard. What next?”
“Haven’t the foggiest,” she announced, answering the stunned disbelief on Alistair’s face with an apologetic grin. “Sorry, love. I told you it wasn’t a good plan.”
She waited for the customary sarcastic retort, but it never came, for at that moment Alistair saw what Bob had noticed earlier and was seemingly too busy turning twenty shades of red to come up with anything clever. “Oh. I didn’t know it…did that.”
Mairead giggled, fetching her undergarments and using the cloth to clean herself up a bit. “Well, where did you think it went?”
“I don’t know, wherever it goes. For… you know. What it does.”
Mairead’s mind instantly flashed back to those golden-haired babies. Pretty little things with big hazel eyes just like his. She shook her head. Honestly, what had gotten into her today? Apart from the obvious, she thought, her lips twitching into a self-satisfied smirk as she pulled her (damp, cold, and generally unpleasant) smallclothes back on.
“No need. That’s all it takes, actually.”
“Wow,” he said softly, and for a second Mairead thought she caught a flicker of sadness in his eyes—Does he regret that it wasn’t special? Oh, Maker, does he feel like I took advantage of him?—but it was gone so quickly that she must have imagined it. He placed a warm, strong hand on her belly with a tenderness that made her go all fluttery inside. She had a feeling she was blushing.
“Yeah,” she agreed. Then laughed, because she could just hear Morrigan’s exasperated voice in her head, mocking them for having a “moment” when there was a prison to escape. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”