Scoundrel's Answer

The carriage wound its way toward Alan's estate, and it was well past midnight when the horses finally pulled it up before the quiet house. Footmen raced around to open the door, and a battered Alan Tinsley helped his wife Elizabeth down from the carriage. She was hardly clad in that voluminous cloak of his, her hair was still a mess, but she looked as beautiful as the day he'd first laid eyes upon her.

Alan stepped out beside her, then slipped his arm about her waist. She leaned against his shoulder as they approached the house. The heavy wooden door soon gave way to a quiet, shadowy interior lit only by the gentle glow of lamplight from the sitting room he'd vacated so hastily before. No doubt Marcy had kept the thing lit while waiting for his return. Elizabeth glanced up and about the foyer as if seeing it for the first time, and hesitated there.

"What's wrong, love?"

His concern was met only by a gentle smile. "I've been through so much... it's just a little overwhelming to be here again. Perhaps a bath would be in order?"

At her suggestion, Alan smiled gently, and rubbed at her waist. "Of course, my love," and soon he was leading his wife down the hall, her bare feet padding lightly along on the smooth wood flooring.

As they passed the sitting room, Alan peeked around the corner, only to catch sight of Marcy, asleep in one of the couches. Henri lay stretched out there, also asleep. The big man's head rested upon the maid's lap. The two looked so very peaceful, and Alan was glad to see that Henri's color had returned. While the simple minded man hadn't had the benefit of the dwarf-lord's masterful healing spells, the effects of the potions, healer's attentions, and likely a lot of rest under the care of Marcy had done much to apparently restore the man's vitality. The worst was passed, or so it seemed.

Alan turned, expecting to reassure his wife's worries, but she wasn't even looking into the sitting room. Instead, her gaze wandered the hall studiously, as if re-familiarizing herself with its length. He had expected his kind-hearted Lizzy to show her usual concern over the help. His brow furrowed in thought.

She seemed to notice his worry as her gaze drifted back from the hall to meet his. She lifted a gentle hand to caress his cheek with a loving touch, "What's wrong, dear?"

His worries subsided, but only slightly. It took him a moment to figure out how to put it, before finally, "Henri seems to be doing better."

"That's nice, dear."

His blood ran cold for a moment, but perhaps she hadn't known what had happened to him. "He was heavily wounded when you were taken, dear."

Almost at once, realization dawned upon her features, and she leaned past him to look in on the sleeping man and maid. "Oh! Oh my, I'm so sorry. I hadn't realized," She certainly sounded contrite, but the interaction left a certain doubt in Alan's mind. Had she been traumatized that badly in that brief captivity? Or was this not his Lizzy?

Even the idea of doubting her was painful. Guilty that the thought had even crossed his mind, he gathered Elizabeth in against his chest. She sighed and laid her head against him again.

"I'm sorry dear, I just... That bath, please?"

Alan kissed the top of her head, inhaling her scent as he held her close. "Of course, love."

She didn't move from his arms, not until he finally moved to lead her onward toward their bathing room. She moved readily where lead. The bath had been a luxury installed at her slightest suggestion in days long past, situated near their bedroom. The room itself was bright with enchanted light, and contained a massive porcelain tub. Two crystal decanters mounted to a gilded rod could be unstopped to provide an endless source of hot and cold water, while a similarly gilded stopper kept the drain sealed.

Alan guided her in toward the tub, and she let his cloak slip from her shoulders as they moved. As they neared the baths, she offered a coy little smile over her shoulder, only to slide her hands along her own hips, teasing her nails over her own soft skin with just enough of a scraping to draw his attentions downward.

"Draw the bath for me?" An unusual request, but the flirtatious tone in her words easily drew him in.

Alan slipped past her, eyes drifting over her form as he moved, then he reached to begin to draw the crystal stops from each of the decanters, adjusting their flow by their command words. Water soon thundered down into the porcelain bath, and he reached his hand into the flow, to ensure the temperature was to her liking.

As he leaned over the edge of the tub, Elizabeth's hands came to his shoulders, then slipped down under his tunic. He winced when they found the edge of that tender flesh where the crossbow bolt had earlier pierced. His reaction just caused her to trace her nails lightly, teasingly along the edge of that spell-healed wound.

"My poor, poor dear," She cooed the words out, and began to loosen that leather's ties. "Did you get hurt coming to my rescue?"

Alan chuckled ruefully and nodded, "I took my share of nicks and dings coming for you, but it was so worth it, love." As the bath filled, he straightened, and turned to face her. His hands went for her waist.

Nude before him, Elizabeth's nipples jutted forth stiffly. Her eyes gazed up through her lashes in a manner that nagged at his memories more than it should. Her hands moved over his chest though, peeling away the damaged leather tunic, then her nails traced over his smooth skin to toy over the freshly healed slash that he'd suffered on that top floor.

"I'm glad you think I'm worth such hardship." She spoke softly, then her head dipped forward. That long, blonde hair brushed against his skin long before the tease of her warm, moist lips played over his flesh. She drew a line of gentle little kisses over the line of pale skin that marked where the dwarf's miraculous prayers had knitted the wound.

Still tender from the injury and subsequent healing, even that gentle touch brought a light hiss from Alan's lips. His hands slid slowly up her sides, and she offered a wicked little smile up to him. Her tongue darted out to taste skin that still bore the stain of blood from the earlier injury next to fresh skin.

"Tease," he breathed out the word. He wanted her badly, though he had worried over how the brutality of her captivity would have affected her. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disturbed when her hands descended to unlace his trousers.

With his tunic removed, there was nothing to prevent the contact of her warm skin as she leaned in again. Hands still worked to remove his leggings, while her soft breasts crushed against his firm chest. Stiff nipples positively drilled into his flesh, and she tilted her head up, lips beckoning his. He slipped his own hands to tease the sides of those fleshy swells, before slipping back down to the base of her spine. His lips caught hers hungrily, and a low wanting sound escaped him.

The kiss was held long enough to leave even him breathless, before she was the one to break it. She smiled a devious little smile, then whispered to him, "The bath is ready, dear."

It took him a moment to process her words, then Alan nodded hastily "Oh! Oh yes." He turned then, hands reluctantly left her soft skin, and he placed the crystal stops back into place, shutting off that water in an instant, leaving the tub filled with faintly steaming, crystal clear water.

Elizabeth's hands stroked over his broad shoulders, then down along his back, dragging her nails along his flesh with a light pressure. She then rested her palms against his lower back, guiding him forward against the tub. When he stepped forward into it, she leaned forward and pressed a soft little kiss to his spine. Turning to face her with a smile, Alan gazed into her smoldering eyes. Her hands slipped back to his shoulders, and she guided him downward into the water.

As the old rogue settled back into the warm embrace of the cleansing waters, he was treated to the sight of his young wife's leg slipping across before him. She stepped daintily into the waters with him, straddling his legs with her own toned limbs. Slowly she lowered herself, gazing down into his eyes. His hands slid up along her soft, smooth flesh, while hers came to rest at his chest once more. He wanted to wince when her hands once more found that tender flesh, but his attentions were entirely occupied with the way her slender body settled in, the slight sway of her breasts as she leaned forward, the way her thighs parted and then glided over his own.

Settled in his lap at last, he knew she couldn't help but notice his arousal as her soft, silken flesh brushed against his hard cock. Yet all she did was offer a grind of her hips to tease against his throbbing flesh, and gently scoop up a sponge, wetting it in the water. Her lithe form remained close, but not quite touching, and she lifted said sponge to carefully begin to wash the grime and blood from his skin. The crystalline water swept it away readily, the enchanted nature of it rinsing it all into nothingness. The tub remained pristine about their bodies.

The safety of home, the way the water eased his pains and the warmth of his wife's proximity were a slice of heaven for Alan's weary form. He gazed up at her eyes, as bright and beautiful as they ever were. His hands stroked from her hips up along her sides, cupped to keep that warm, cleansing water against her smooth skin.

As his hands came up to Lizzy's breasts, she lifted the sponge and squeezed that cleansing water out over his hair. The act brought a laugh from the old rogue's lips, and he squeezed those firm breasts with a possessive kneading.

Lizzy arched into her husband's touch, a warm smile on her lush lips. She leaned into him and traced her tongue along his neck, then back down over one collarbone. When her tongue met the pale scar cut across his chest, she followed its progress from one side to the other. Delicate hands raked slowly over his chest, before she dug her nails into his sides.

Alan gasped at the sting of those nails, and his back arched. Those tight muscles grazed his wife's soft form, and the throbbing arousal she had stirred brushed along her nether lips. At the slight touch of body to body, however, she withdrew. A teasing little smirk played across her lush lips as she rose slowly, pushing herself out of the bath. The old rogue's hands slid back down along her smooth skin, caressing along each curve as she passed out of reach.

His protests died as those lush lips descended to his own. The kiss was intense, demanding, and he groaned into her hungry mouth. She leaned over him, one hand braced on the edge of the tub, while the other played down along his chest. Long nails teased down over his abdomen, then those slender fingers slipped into the warm water to wrap about his cock. Slowly they tightened about his length, just stroking along that rigid member.

When she broke the kiss, Lizzy gazed down into his eyes. Her own greens glittered like gems in the moonlight. "Come now, dear, the bed awaits." She gave a final gentle tug to that engorged member, as if to beckon him up, then turned away from the bath. The water still coursing in rivulets along her frame pooled in her wake, making the floor dangerously slick. She fetched up one of the towels from the nearby rack, and began to dry herself.

Alan let his gaze drift over her body, lingering on the track of those slender hands as they guided the towels over her curves. When she caught his gaze, Lizzy offered an impish, teasing smile. With a laugh, the old rogue hoisted himself readily from that bath. Only the slightest tinge of pain was betrayed when he put strain on that still recovering arm.

Once out of the tub, Alan stepped toward where Lizzy rubbed that warm towel over her still damp form. She turned as he neared, then lifted her hands to trace that same material over his own frame. He slipped his hands to her waist, but she smiled and pushed him back lightly. "There's plenty of time for all that." However, on noticing his look, she smiled and lazily draped her arms about his shoulders, letting that towel fall to the ground.

"Carry me to bed?"

Even with those freshly mended injuries, it was a task Alan was more than equal to. His hands slipped down along her form, scooping under her legs and her back. With ease, he lifted her frame, and held her close to his chest. She was, perhaps, a bit heavier than he recalled, but then he'd had to favor the one arm in supporting her.

Lizzy's lips brushed his chin, and she kept her arms wrapped about his shoulders. He could feel her nails digging into his back just below the nape of his neck. With a permanent smile upon his own lips, he carried her, making his way still nude out of that bathing room and just down the adjacent hallway. It was a short trek into their grand bedroom, through double doors that opened into a room that she'd had free reign in decorating.

A pair of windows opened out to overlook the gardens beyond, though the night cloaked that lovely view just then. There was a portrait of them both, created just after their wedding, fine fur carpets and ornate dressers. Then there were touches from his own past. Prizes and trinkets taken during his adventuring days, lovingly displayed at Lizzy's own request. A medallion from a lost temple, a mask from a savage goblin chieftain, quite a number of swords and knives. It was certainly a surprise when, as they passed one display, she swept one elegant hand out to take up a long, black bladed knife, to toy with between her hands.

When Alan raised his brows, Lizzy distracted him with a question, "Which one was this one from again? You had so many exploits, my dashing hero."

With a chuckle, Alan lowered her into the welcoming embrace of those soft, satin sheets. "That was the personal weapon of the assassin Renolyn, whom we stopped from claiming the life of then Duchess Salnatia."

He slipped a hand up to take it from her grasp, but she moved her own hand away with an impish smile. Holding the blade at arm's length above her head, amongst the pillows, she lifted her other hand to caress his cheek. Her tongue darted out to moisten her inviting lips, then she purred up to him, "Kiss me, silly."

Alan was happy to oblige. The old rogue dipped down to capture her lips with his own once more, and found her more than ready, returning his own advance with a rare hunger. She surprised him then, one smooth leg rose to hook about his waist, and that hand moved from his cheek to the nape of his neck. With a quick tug she had him tumbling into the bed, and rolled atop him.

Through his own laughter, he could hear the front door crash open in the distance, though he paid it no mind. The feel of his wife's body straddling his own, the warmth of her, the lingering taste of her lips upon his, then the sway of her breasts dancing over him as she straightened from that kiss were all he could care about.

There were raised voices, Alan thought he could hear Vick and Daphne's voices. At his puzzled expression, Lizzy kissed him again, and it was with such an urgency that he grew troubled. There was more desperation than true passion behind it, and though the way her breasts crushed into his chest was pleasing, something was definitely amiss.

Sir Tinsley wasn't sure if it was the sudden burst of his bedroom door as Vick Varonne flung it open, or the faint hiss of that black bladed dagger sliding across the pillowcases near his ear that saved him. He didn't remember consciously moving his hands, so it might have simply been the reflexes earned by a lifetime dealing with cutthroats that had his hands about Lizzy's wrist, just as the tip of that razor sharp knife nicked his throat.

A thin droplet of his blood rose from where the very point of the dagger had pierced his flesh.

"That's not Lizzy!" Vick bellowed, as if it wasn't clear in that moment.

Still confused, Alan bit down on the lips of the mouth sealed against his, just as both of his hands struggled to keep that knife-bearing limb at bay. Her form was already changing above his, shifting, writhing as it adopted an inhuman, spindly figure. Neither male nor female, with no hair, little muscle mass, and a face like the blank mask of a doll's, with huge, empty eyes.

And then Daphne impacted the being, and knocked it off and away from him. The elven assassin and the strange shape shifter tumbled to the floor on the opposite side of the bed.

Count Varonne strode across the bedroom confidently, his great black bladed sword resting upon his still armored shoulder, the metal so similar to the knife which had come so close to ending Alan's life.

Alan clapped one hand over the nick on his neck to stem the bleeding, before his eyes fell to the assassin's knife still laying amidst the sheets of his bed. The thing had dropped it when Daphne's tackle had connected. Thinking quickly, his free hand darted out lightning fast, and he spun the blade to a combat grip.

By now, upon the floor the creature had shifted again. Now, two leather clad, dark tressed elven women wrestled upon the ground. Two Daphnes, just what the world needed. Alan groaned as he looked down to the two.

As he stood above the two figures, Vick watched them roll back and forth, a grim expression on his features. It was almost impossible to tell which was which, so perfect was the masquerade.

"Kill her!" Both of the elven women cried out in unison, while hands gripped at hair and pushed at torsos. The tangle of limbs continued for a moment longer, before Vick raised that great sword in both hands.

With a sudden, downward thrust that startled even Alan, Vick impaled both women in a clean stroke, and buried the first five inches of that blade into the flooring beneath. The Daphne on the bottom stared upward, eyes wide in shock, then glanced down at the sword cleanly passing through both bodies.

"W-why?" The lower Daphne squeaked out, as those feminine features began to fade into a genderless, gray skinned being.

The real Daphne cursed, as blood poured from about her fangs. "Fuck you, Vick. That hurts."

With a casual press of a booted foot on Daphne's pert ass, Vick yanked his sword out of both of the bodies beneath him. "You'll get over it."

The vampiric elven woman rolled off of the now still doppelganger with a groan, and Alan peered over the edge of the bed, staring in horror at the growing pool of black ichor beneath the dead monstrosity.

"You're damn lucky Garthur and your friend Tannon insisted we go over what we could of the documents from that safe house. Figures you'd let your guard down for a woman's touch. Our work's not done, turns out they moved your wife already."

Alan turned his gaze up to Vick in shock. "What? When?" For the moment, the jab about a woman's touch went unanswered.

The old warrior snorted and wiped his blade off on the dead shape shifter. As Daphne began to stagger to her feet, Vick sheathed the Black Blade. "Don't know exactly when, but some bard came and collected her, took her out beyond the city limits."

"Bard?" Alan was puzzled for a moment, then gasped in shock. "What, you don't think-"

"That fellow we fought near the Reavers Rest?" Daphne gasped the words out as she steadied herself on her feet, looking pale, but even as the two men watched, the gaping wound that had so dominated her torso sealed itself up, leaving just a fading red line on otherwise pristine flesh. Her leathers, of course, were thoroughly tattered from the night's activities, revealing almost as much as they concealed.

Vick nodded at her words. "Yeah, that'll be him. Don't have a name for him, no idea where he hails from."

Alan drew the covers about his nude form, that knife still in his hand. "We need to go after her."