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Title:
Even Angels Fall Thanks for beta-reading and cheerleading from Wormie. She makes my work better, and I thank her greatly for it. nks Come here directly without going to my main Witchblade fanfic page?
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The woman didn't see Nottingham when she came into the room. Garbed as she was in one of Mr. Irons' dressing gowns - the gold satin one - he guessed that she had snuck out of the bedroom. He wasn't sure what the woman was doing in the study. She had no reason to be there. Mr. Irons' appetite for young women had resumed with a vengeance after his infusion of the small amount of Sara's blood that Nottingham had been able to procure. The women he brought home were young - younger each time - and all had the same dark hair and light eyes. Nottingham knew what Mr. Irons' was doing, but none of them, not even this one who had the same cheekbones as Sara, could ever be a successful substitute for her. The woman cringed at the slight rumble the heavy wooden doors made as they easily swung shut on their well-balanced hinges. She waited for a moment, her fear of discovery obvious in the way her body tensed, every fiber bent on listening. When she heard nothing, she let out a breath, then padded, barefoot, over to the fireplace. The flames were low, but the woman held out her hands to warm them for a moment. She glanced around the room curiously, but again failed to spot Nottingham in the shadow of the stairs. Pulling the poker from the rack of fire implements, she poked at the remnants of the fire, coaxing a brighter flame from what remained of the logs. Putting back the poker, she made her way to one of the great leather chairs. She dragged it closer to the fire, drawing deep furrows in the oriental rug. Once she had it positioned where she wanted it, she sat down, drawing her feet up under the borrowed robe. She leaned her head against the side of the chair and closed her eyes momentarily. When she opened them again, her gaze was directly on Nottingham. She didn't seem to see him at first, but as the fire grew brighter, he must have been more easily distinguished from the shadows that surrounded him. "Hi," she said. She wasn't surprised to see him, or at least, she didn't act surprised. "Hiding?" she asked. Nottingham shook his head. "Did I bother you?" she asked, leaning forward slightly. Nottingham shook his head again. She leaned back. "Do you speak? I don't think I heard a peep out of you all through the ride here or dinner." "I speak," Nottingham said, but the roughness in his voice showed that it wasn't a frequent occurrence. "Well, do you mind if I join you in here?" She settled herself back into the soft leather of the chair and closed her eyes. "It's comfy." "Please yourself." Her eyes opened and she gave a soft laugh. "I wish." The smile faded from her face. "Why don't you come over here instead of lurking back there? I don't bite." When he didn't move, she cocked her head to the side. "Please?" The word "please" was one he didn't hear often. He came out into the circle of firelight. She nodded her head to the other leather chair. "Sit?" She made it a request, not a command. Again, something he wasn't used to. Since it was a request, he eschewed the chair and sat on the hearth, letting the heat of the fire soak through his clothes to warm his skin. She closed her eyes again. "What's your name?" she asked. He considered not telling her. Mr. Irons preferred that he didn't interact with his houseguests. But Mr. Irons wasn't here. "Ian." She smiled, her eyes still closed. "Ian," she repeated. "You don't sound English. Is it a family name?" Nottingham shrugged, even though she couldn't see him. "I don't know." "Hm." She opened her eyes. "I'm Emily." She stuck out her hand and after a moment, Nottingham reached out his. She grasped it and shook, her grip firm. She raised her eyebrows at the black leather glove on his hand, but didn't comment on it. When she released his hand, she leaned back into the leather chair again, rubbing her shoulders against it. "I used to do this when I was little," she said, staring into the fire. "Sneak downstairs and sit in front of the fireplace. Williams was terrible about forgetting to put it out at night." The corners of her mouth dipped into a frown. "I don't have a fireplace where I live now. I've always liked them." Nottingham didn't tell her so, but he did, too. That's why he'd been in here, watching the fire die, shielding his sensitive hearing from what Mr. Irons and Emily were doing in one of the upstairs bedrooms. They sat in silence, Emily staring at the fire, and Nottingham staring at Emily. "What?" she asked suddenly. When he didn't respond, she turned to look at him. "I can tell you want to say something. What?" Nottingham dropped his eyes to the floor, tracing the patterns of the rug with his eyes. "Sorry," he said. "Don't be sorry, just say whatever you wanted to say." He glanced up and she just looked exasperated rather than angry. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. With a frown, he tried to find the best way to frame his question. "What are you doing here?" he finally asked. "Sitting in a chair enjoying the fire," she said without hesitating. "I didn't mean that," Nottingham said, frowning. "I know." She looked away from him to the fire. "You want to know why I'm not up in bed with the man I came here to be with." Nottingham nodded - it wasn't exactly what he meant, but it was close enough for now. "I live, " she said slowly, "in a two bedroom apartment with three other women. When I was growing up, I lived in a house bigger than this one. My bedroom was bigger than my whole apartment. Sometimes, I just miss living like that." She looked back at him. "Well, no 'sometimes." Pretty much all the time." She shrugged. "Just re-living the good life, I guess." "Is that why you're ..." he hesitated, "... with Mr. Irons?" "'Is that why I'm sleeping with him?' you mean?" she asked, no trace of anger in her voice. Nottingham nodded, a little ashamed of the question. "Yes," she said simply. Nottingham dropped his eyes to the floor. Now he knew why he didn't ever want to talk to any of Mr. Irons' women. All they wanted was the money, the power. There was no love, no caring. Not that Mr. Irons wanted that, but ... Nottingham did. "You don't like me now." Emily didn't sound upset about it. "Would you rather I had lied?" Though he normally abhorred dishonesty, Nottingham found himself nodding. Emily had seemed ... nice. She was the only one of Mr. Irons' houseguests who had ever just wanted to talk to him. He'd encountered their pawing before, their rudeness. A particularly drunk one had even slapped him once. But not one of them had ever wanted to just sit by the fire and talk to him. "Look, Ian, we all have a price. I just know what mine is, that's all." Her voice hardened a bit. "I know perfectly well what I'm willing to sell myself for." "Money," Nottingham spat, looking up at her. "No," she said, a little smile on her face. "This." She waved her hand around the room. "Sitting here, in front of a fire. Warm, not hungry, luxuriously tired after a long day." The smile faded from her face. "Do you know what your price is?" "I don't have one," Nottingham said coldly. "Sure you do," she said affably. "Everyone does. What would you give anything for? Think of it. Now, what would you give to have it?" Sara. Anything. His thoughts must have shown. Emily smiled. "See." She settled more comfortably in the chair. "What's her name?" Again, his thoughts must have been plainly written across his face - Emily laughed. "You have money, you're handsome, but you're here hiding in the dark. You're pining away for a woman is my guess." Nottingham hesitated. He'd never spoken of this with anyone. He wasn't sure he had the words. Well, maybe he didn't, but Emily seemed to have enough words for both of them. "Sara," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Her name is Sara." "So what are you doing here?" Emily asked. "Why aren't you with her?" "She doesn't ... I can't ..." He dropped his eyes down. "It's complicated." "She married?" Nottingham shook his head. "Involved?" Again, Nottingham shook no. "Lesbian?" He snapped his head up. That had never occurred to him, but he didn't think so. He shook his head. "Well then? You could trim your beard a bit, but you're nice to look at. You're well spoken. You're polite." She narrowed her eyes at him. "What is it?" "It's complicated." "Yeah, so's life. That's not an answer; that's an excuse." Her expression softened. "Are you scared?" His lack of response must have been answer enough. "Sometimes you just have to do it anyway, you know, even if you're scared. When you want something so bad, you just have to close your eyes and pay your price." Emily's eyes closed as she spoke. "For me, I'm willing to have sex with a man old enough to be my father. Older, really. But I can have everything I used to have." She opened her eyes. "My body is a small price to pay for what I want." "He won't keep you." "I figured that out. That's why I'm down here." She smiled. "But this is worth it. Just for a little while to be back where I want. But you - you'll need to figure out what you have to pay to get Sara. What will you sacrifice to be with her?" The doors to the study opened. Mr. Irons stepped through. "Ian, have you stolen Emily?" His tone was meant to sound joking, but Nottingham's long familiarity let him hear the edge that was there. Emily stood and languorously stretched. "I wasn't tired, and I didn't want to wake you," she said as she walked over to Mr. Irons, her hips swaying under the dressing gown. "I had your man keep the fire for me." She ran her hand down the side of the older man's face. "But now that you're awake, maybe we can make our own fire." Nottingham stood as Mr. Irons' hands went to Emily's waist and pulled her against him. Emily led Mr. Irons away, upstairs and back to bed. She never once looked back. Nottingham sat back down, but in the chair, the leather still warm from Emily's body, faint traces of her perfume lingering there, too. He didn't desire her, but the remnants of her presence calmed him. She was right. He had to make a sacrifice for Sara. He knew what he had to do, even if it wasn't exactly what Emily had meant. Only by giving up his life could Sara be free of Mr. Irons. Without his slave to help, Sara could easily out-maneuver Mr. Irons. He would give her the only thing he had to give and she would finally know the truth. Nottingham tucked his feet up on the chair as Emily had. He had always liked the fire, too. |
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Fin.in
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