"Sharpe's Heart" (part two) by Sylvene - Sharpe
Sharpe picked up his lady, making sure his great coat was wrapped around her securely. Amidst the cheers of the crowd, he carried her off the stage in his arms. First things, first, he thought. He had to get her dressed while his baser instincts were still in check.
“D’you know the market at all, lass? We have to get you some shoes and a dress.
“Do we?”
The look she gave him from beneath her lashes fair made his blood sizzle. He wiped the grin off his face with difficulty and looked at her severely.
“Yes, we do.”
Saraphina giggled as she nibbled on his neck.
“Here now. Stop that.”
“Yes, Richard.” She sighed softly, one hand unbuttoning his jacket and slipping within.
A shiver ran down his spine, straight to his groin.
“Behave, now.”
“Yes, Richard.”
His hands full, there was naught he could do to stop her exploring hands.
“Be useful then,” he chided. “My coin purse is around my neck. I haven’t much with me, but we should be able to get you stockings, shoes, a shift and a dress.”
He didn’t know if his meager purse would extend to petticoats, corsets, bonnets and the other fripperies that ladies required.
~~~
He should have known enough to leave well alone, Sharpe thought as Saraphina drew the stockings up to her shapely thigh. He should have just bought her something instead of letting her choose. Then letting her persuade him into helping her choose. The seamstress had left them discreetly alone with a selection of clothing that was within his purse. That was the third pair of stockings she had tried on for him. She was still in his great coat. She had not even gotten to the selection of shift or dress yet. She was going to kill him.
~~~
Sharpe wandered through the stalls outside the clothing store, having escaped the heated confines of the dressing room with his virtue and honor barely intact. He stopped at a gaudy stall selling clockwork animata. Not anything that he could afford, but he was fascinated. Here, a monkey beat on a pair of cymbals while its head moved back and forth. There, a soldier marched up and down, knelt and lifted its musket to fire. He picked it up and examined it admiringly.
“You like it, sir?” The stall holder asked.
Sharpe responded as he set it down with regret. “It is more than a mere soldier can afford.”
“For you sir, a pittance.”
Sharpe sent the gaudily dressed old woman a piercing look.
“For me?”
The woman fluttered her hands and rolled her eyes.
“For the hero of the day? But of course!”
Sharpe blushed. He was no bludy hero, but the newspapers too, had made much of his capture of an Imperial Eagle.
She smiled encouragingly, trying to hand it to him, “Take it!”
“What do you want for it, ma’am?”
Her eyes twinkled, “A lock of your hair. For a keepsake.”
“That you’ll no doubt sell for ten times as much as the toy.” Saraphina’s lilting voice intruded.
Sharpe turned, the toy forgotten as he looked at his lady. Thwarted, the stall holder muttered a curse under a breath and glared at Saraphina.
“Sara!”
Unaware of the undercurrents or his close escape, Sharpe looked his lady up and down.
“How beautiful you look.”
The light blue dressed matched the color of her eyes. The color of the English sky on a clear summer’s day. The neckline was modest, but the dress did nothing to conceal her lush figure or bosom. Sharpe smiled and offering her his arm, they strolled the market place together. He grinned down at her as he remembered the clockwork toy.
“Ten times as much?”
“At least.”
He laughed. For a lock of his hair? Not bludy likely.
By God, it felt good to have Saraphina on his arm. The way she nestled close and gazed at him proclaimed to all, that she was his. Many smiled at the couple and offered their felicitations. They were given trinkets. A flower for his jacket, ribbons for her hair. Offered sweetmeats and pies and lemonade and berries. The word had run through Market faster than wildfire through a meadow. After all… how often did a man win his love through an auction by bidding with his heart? Not in the last three hundred years at least! And it happened right here in Market! They made a handsome couple and many speculated at the babies they would make together. Although some muttered darkly that other-side pairings came only to no good.
~~~
He’d erected a blanket tent in the sheltered copse for her. She’d insisted he take off his jacket and his boots to share it. Then shimmied out of her shift and removed his shirt. The air was heated in the tent. Conversation consisted of soft murmurs, heavy breathing, whispered names and gasps of pleasure. Their mouths and tongues touching, stroking, skin on skin. Her soft hands on softer skin. More sensitive territory. He had lost his breeches somewhen.
“Darlin’ slow down,” he begged incoherently. “I’m… I’m trying to be… Aahhh.” Unable to help himself, he drove into her welcoming heat. She screamed. Sharpe grimaced in ecstasy and agony. She was unbelievably tight and hot. Slick and wet. Where she was wrapped around him before, she was now pushing at him. A tear slipped out of the corner of an eye. He stopped. His mind was scrambling to catch up with the sensations. Gritting his teeth, he held himself still.
“Darlin’ you’ve never been with a man before, have you?”
She shook her head, and buried her face in his neck. He’d never lain with a virgin before either. It had been a good guess.
“Relax sweetheart. Breathe. Take a deep breath and let it all out.”
She obeyed tremulously, her chest heaving and pressing her breasts harder into his chest. He levered his chest father off hers.
“That’s right, darlin’, that’s the way of it.” He groaned as he sank deeper in her sheath, her body opening to his as she relaxed. Her eyes widened as his pelvis pressed into her mons, his shaft deep in her.
“Oh.” Her exclamation was soft with wonder.
“Put your arms around me again, darlin’… yes, your legs too.”
He moaned softly. “That’s right darlin’ open to me.”
Sharpe began to move. Fitting his sword to her sheath. Slipping, sliding, fitting. Delving. Pleasuring. He bent his head. Fitted his lips to hers. She wrapped her legs around him tighter. Squeezing, encouraging.
She was breathing to his rhythm. Soft gasps of pleasure, her head thrown back as her body arched toward his. He was saying something. Encouraging her. “Come, darlin’ come. Come. For me.”
The world split asunder. She screamed. His shout of pleasure echoing her cry a short moment after, their breaths mingling in the throes of their climax.
~~~
Sharpe drowsed, Saraphina was nestled close. He breathed in her scent, let it permeate his senses. His calloused hand stroked her soft skin. It was light. Much later than he normally woke. As he became aware of the world, he suddenly realized that they were not alone. He heard footsteps. The breathy “harrumph” of a horse. A quiet command. His body tensed. She opened her eyes and looked sleepily at him before blushing and looked away. For a moment, Sharpe forgot about the world outside their small tent and smiled. Then, pressing a kiss onto her hair, he laid a shushing finger on her lips and fumbled in their discarded clothing for his breeches.
There was no way of silencing the draw of a sword from its scabbard and Sharpe did not try. He was out of the tent in a crouch and rising to his feet when he heard the same sound reciprocated. Many times over. He had chosen the location well. The tent backed into a dense coppice but he would not prevail over the number of men in front of him, their swords pointed at his chest.
Tatiana blinked. She had not expected so tall and large a man. She took in his handsome blonde looks. The expanse of his naked chest. She had an impression of strength, of courage. An honorable man. An other-sider she had been told. A military man. He was speaking. An aggressive growl even in his position.
“What do you bastids want, then?”
Sharpe heard movement in the tent behind him. Saraphina was getting dressed. He heard her gasp as she lifted the flap and looked out.
“Stay back, Sara.”
Sharpe did not look back but kept his eyes on the men in front of him. What the hell were they wearing? Some sort of shiny metal shirt that gleamed in the dappled morning light filtering through the trees.
“Mother!” Sara’s voice was joyous.
Sharpe turned his head then, and stared as his love scrambled out of the tent and ran towards a finely dressed woman on a horse. The woman swung down hastily and they embraced.
From his crouched ready position, Sharpe slowly straightened and lowered his sword. The men in front of him did not reciprocate. He growled. A couple of swords wavered. Hmmph! Inexperienced gits.
Saraphina was tugging her mother towards him. Sharpe ignored the men and turned to watch them. As they approached, the men lowered their swords and stood back in reverence.
Sara grasped his hand and pulled him forward. “Mother, this is Richard. Captain Richard Sharpe. Of the 95th Rifles.”
Sharpe bowed. One of the men gasped. No more than a boy, thought Sharpe. His voice squeaked as he demanded, “On your knees before the Queen, peasant!”
Queen? Sharpe was confused but he bent a knee obediently. The woman smiled. Her eyes brimming over with tears as she reached out both hands to cradle his face as she bent and kissed him on his forehead, cheeks and lips.
There was a general stirring among the guards. The royal salute. Bestowed on an other-sider.
The men - guards, Sharpe amended stood to attention and saluted. She was raising him to his feet and Saraphina flung herself at him. He caught her with a grin. Then she was pulling his head down, pressing kisses on his lips.
“Not in front of your mother, darlin’,” he protested.
She laughed, giggling with joy.
“My mother, Richard, Queen Tatiana the… oh, I forget. 45th or something like that.”
“My pleasure, ma’am.”
“It seems I have much to thank you for, Captain Sharpe.”
~~~
His arse hurt. His stupid horse was bound and determined to shake his bones loose. It was all he could do to stay on. Saraphina was riding close to her mother. Talking spiritedly, her mother was wont to reach out and touch her hands as they held the reins, as if to assure herself that Sara was really there. He rode in their wake, the Queen’s guards ranged around them. One of them looked familiar. As if he had seen him somewhere before. He frowned, but could not place him.
Sharpe had watched men mount and dismount before. Riding didn’t seem that hard, but when he dismounted, his horse moved and he almost fell. His legs felt like jelly. Damn!
“Haven’t been on a horse for a long while, sir?” The voice was polite.
“Never been on a horse before.” He gritted out.
Clutching the saddle horn for all he was worth, Sharpe tried to get his legs in working order and looked at the owner of the voice. It was familiar as well. Suddenly, it clicked. He grabbed the guard by his shiny mail vest and hauled him up to his face.
“You! You were the lad in the market place.”
Robin swallowed nervously. “Yes, sir. Indeed, sir. I was there. You rescued our princess.”
Sharpe frowned. Wait… Queen of what? Princess? He turned and looked at Sara and her mother. They were walking toward a large tent, towards a gaggle of women who were embracing Sara and weeping and exclaiming over her.
“Sir… if you don’t mind?”
Sharpe released the young guard and stood with his legs braced, one hand on a hip, the other raking through his hair. He looked around, trying to take it all in. They were in the largest, most ostentatious encampment he had ever seen. It looked like a page out of a fairy-tale book.
“Sir, if you’ll come this way?”
Sharpe looked at the young guard and limped towards him.
“What’s your name, lad?”
“Robin, sir.”
~~~
Robin, Sharpe decided, was worse than Harper. More persistent, more insistent, and if he didn’t seem so put on by his uncertain and ungracious temper, Sharpe would have suspected a good dose of annoying hero-worship as well.
In the space of a day, he had been barbered, shaved, put into new clothes, his saber cleaned until it gleamed and his stallion exchanged for a gentle gelding. He had healing hands too, Sharpe conceded, groaning as Robin worked the sweet smelling salve into the painfully tight muscles of his arse and lower limbs each day.
Sharpe found himself worked harder than he had in a long time. As they traveled, the horse master took him through his paces, drilling him in horsemanship. An all out brawl with a snotty courtier had resulted in lessons in self defense and swordsmanship. A finer blade than he had ever handled now rested against his leg. A skirmish with brigands determined, however, his superiority as a military officer as he led the guards and protected the caravan. He now set the marching order and the night pickets.
Through the entire journey, he got no closer to Saraphina than from across the dining table. Unless one counted the evening walks - chaperoned by two giggling maids and no less than five guards to his complete disgust.
Finally, they were met by another large party and carriages. Sharpe watched as the Queen and her ladies entered one, and Saraphina entered the other. Sharpe beckoned Robin over.
“See the second carriage?” he asked.
“The one with the Princess?”
“You will enter from the left, and I from the right. We will remove one maid each.”
Robin grinned. He had yet to instill the concept of a lady-in-waiting to the man from the other-side. It annoyed the ladies to no end to be called maids.
“What will that accomplish sir?”
“You’ll see.”
Robin did as he was told. Hauling a squawking woman out from the left while Sharpe did the same from the right. Then Sharpe pulled the coachman down.
“Up you go, Robin!” He cried, throwing him the whip. “Onward!”
Robin scrambled up, gathered the reins and cracked the whip as Sharpe jumped into the carriage and slammed the door.
“Richard!”
Saraphina gasped in amazement as the carriage jolted forward.
“Hello Sara. I’ve missed you.”
He pulled her into his lap and kissed her.
“D’you know the market at all, lass? We have to get you some shoes and a dress.
“Do we?”
The look she gave him from beneath her lashes fair made his blood sizzle. He wiped the grin off his face with difficulty and looked at her severely.
“Yes, we do.”
Saraphina giggled as she nibbled on his neck.
“Here now. Stop that.”
“Yes, Richard.” She sighed softly, one hand unbuttoning his jacket and slipping within.
A shiver ran down his spine, straight to his groin.
“Behave, now.”
“Yes, Richard.”
His hands full, there was naught he could do to stop her exploring hands.
“Be useful then,” he chided. “My coin purse is around my neck. I haven’t much with me, but we should be able to get you stockings, shoes, a shift and a dress.”
He didn’t know if his meager purse would extend to petticoats, corsets, bonnets and the other fripperies that ladies required.
~~~
He should have known enough to leave well alone, Sharpe thought as Saraphina drew the stockings up to her shapely thigh. He should have just bought her something instead of letting her choose. Then letting her persuade him into helping her choose. The seamstress had left them discreetly alone with a selection of clothing that was within his purse. That was the third pair of stockings she had tried on for him. She was still in his great coat. She had not even gotten to the selection of shift or dress yet. She was going to kill him.
~~~
Sharpe wandered through the stalls outside the clothing store, having escaped the heated confines of the dressing room with his virtue and honor barely intact. He stopped at a gaudy stall selling clockwork animata. Not anything that he could afford, but he was fascinated. Here, a monkey beat on a pair of cymbals while its head moved back and forth. There, a soldier marched up and down, knelt and lifted its musket to fire. He picked it up and examined it admiringly.
“You like it, sir?” The stall holder asked.
Sharpe responded as he set it down with regret. “It is more than a mere soldier can afford.”
“For you sir, a pittance.”
Sharpe sent the gaudily dressed old woman a piercing look.
“For me?”
The woman fluttered her hands and rolled her eyes.
“For the hero of the day? But of course!”
Sharpe blushed. He was no bludy hero, but the newspapers too, had made much of his capture of an Imperial Eagle.
She smiled encouragingly, trying to hand it to him, “Take it!”
“What do you want for it, ma’am?”
Her eyes twinkled, “A lock of your hair. For a keepsake.”
“That you’ll no doubt sell for ten times as much as the toy.” Saraphina’s lilting voice intruded.
Sharpe turned, the toy forgotten as he looked at his lady. Thwarted, the stall holder muttered a curse under a breath and glared at Saraphina.
“Sara!”
Unaware of the undercurrents or his close escape, Sharpe looked his lady up and down.
“How beautiful you look.”
The light blue dressed matched the color of her eyes. The color of the English sky on a clear summer’s day. The neckline was modest, but the dress did nothing to conceal her lush figure or bosom. Sharpe smiled and offering her his arm, they strolled the market place together. He grinned down at her as he remembered the clockwork toy.
“Ten times as much?”
“At least.”
He laughed. For a lock of his hair? Not bludy likely.
By God, it felt good to have Saraphina on his arm. The way she nestled close and gazed at him proclaimed to all, that she was his. Many smiled at the couple and offered their felicitations. They were given trinkets. A flower for his jacket, ribbons for her hair. Offered sweetmeats and pies and lemonade and berries. The word had run through Market faster than wildfire through a meadow. After all… how often did a man win his love through an auction by bidding with his heart? Not in the last three hundred years at least! And it happened right here in Market! They made a handsome couple and many speculated at the babies they would make together. Although some muttered darkly that other-side pairings came only to no good.
~~~
He’d erected a blanket tent in the sheltered copse for her. She’d insisted he take off his jacket and his boots to share it. Then shimmied out of her shift and removed his shirt. The air was heated in the tent. Conversation consisted of soft murmurs, heavy breathing, whispered names and gasps of pleasure. Their mouths and tongues touching, stroking, skin on skin. Her soft hands on softer skin. More sensitive territory. He had lost his breeches somewhen.
“Darlin’ slow down,” he begged incoherently. “I’m… I’m trying to be… Aahhh.” Unable to help himself, he drove into her welcoming heat. She screamed. Sharpe grimaced in ecstasy and agony. She was unbelievably tight and hot. Slick and wet. Where she was wrapped around him before, she was now pushing at him. A tear slipped out of the corner of an eye. He stopped. His mind was scrambling to catch up with the sensations. Gritting his teeth, he held himself still.
“Darlin’ you’ve never been with a man before, have you?”
She shook her head, and buried her face in his neck. He’d never lain with a virgin before either. It had been a good guess.
“Relax sweetheart. Breathe. Take a deep breath and let it all out.”
She obeyed tremulously, her chest heaving and pressing her breasts harder into his chest. He levered his chest father off hers.
“That’s right, darlin’, that’s the way of it.” He groaned as he sank deeper in her sheath, her body opening to his as she relaxed. Her eyes widened as his pelvis pressed into her mons, his shaft deep in her.
“Oh.” Her exclamation was soft with wonder.
“Put your arms around me again, darlin’… yes, your legs too.”
He moaned softly. “That’s right darlin’ open to me.”
Sharpe began to move. Fitting his sword to her sheath. Slipping, sliding, fitting. Delving. Pleasuring. He bent his head. Fitted his lips to hers. She wrapped her legs around him tighter. Squeezing, encouraging.
She was breathing to his rhythm. Soft gasps of pleasure, her head thrown back as her body arched toward his. He was saying something. Encouraging her. “Come, darlin’ come. Come. For me.”
The world split asunder. She screamed. His shout of pleasure echoing her cry a short moment after, their breaths mingling in the throes of their climax.
~~~
Sharpe drowsed, Saraphina was nestled close. He breathed in her scent, let it permeate his senses. His calloused hand stroked her soft skin. It was light. Much later than he normally woke. As he became aware of the world, he suddenly realized that they were not alone. He heard footsteps. The breathy “harrumph” of a horse. A quiet command. His body tensed. She opened her eyes and looked sleepily at him before blushing and looked away. For a moment, Sharpe forgot about the world outside their small tent and smiled. Then, pressing a kiss onto her hair, he laid a shushing finger on her lips and fumbled in their discarded clothing for his breeches.
There was no way of silencing the draw of a sword from its scabbard and Sharpe did not try. He was out of the tent in a crouch and rising to his feet when he heard the same sound reciprocated. Many times over. He had chosen the location well. The tent backed into a dense coppice but he would not prevail over the number of men in front of him, their swords pointed at his chest.
Tatiana blinked. She had not expected so tall and large a man. She took in his handsome blonde looks. The expanse of his naked chest. She had an impression of strength, of courage. An honorable man. An other-sider she had been told. A military man. He was speaking. An aggressive growl even in his position.
“What do you bastids want, then?”
Sharpe heard movement in the tent behind him. Saraphina was getting dressed. He heard her gasp as she lifted the flap and looked out.
“Stay back, Sara.”
Sharpe did not look back but kept his eyes on the men in front of him. What the hell were they wearing? Some sort of shiny metal shirt that gleamed in the dappled morning light filtering through the trees.
“Mother!” Sara’s voice was joyous.
Sharpe turned his head then, and stared as his love scrambled out of the tent and ran towards a finely dressed woman on a horse. The woman swung down hastily and they embraced.
From his crouched ready position, Sharpe slowly straightened and lowered his sword. The men in front of him did not reciprocate. He growled. A couple of swords wavered. Hmmph! Inexperienced gits.
Saraphina was tugging her mother towards him. Sharpe ignored the men and turned to watch them. As they approached, the men lowered their swords and stood back in reverence.
Sara grasped his hand and pulled him forward. “Mother, this is Richard. Captain Richard Sharpe. Of the 95th Rifles.”
Sharpe bowed. One of the men gasped. No more than a boy, thought Sharpe. His voice squeaked as he demanded, “On your knees before the Queen, peasant!”
Queen? Sharpe was confused but he bent a knee obediently. The woman smiled. Her eyes brimming over with tears as she reached out both hands to cradle his face as she bent and kissed him on his forehead, cheeks and lips.
There was a general stirring among the guards. The royal salute. Bestowed on an other-sider.
The men - guards, Sharpe amended stood to attention and saluted. She was raising him to his feet and Saraphina flung herself at him. He caught her with a grin. Then she was pulling his head down, pressing kisses on his lips.
“Not in front of your mother, darlin’,” he protested.
She laughed, giggling with joy.
“My mother, Richard, Queen Tatiana the… oh, I forget. 45th or something like that.”
“My pleasure, ma’am.”
“It seems I have much to thank you for, Captain Sharpe.”
~~~
His arse hurt. His stupid horse was bound and determined to shake his bones loose. It was all he could do to stay on. Saraphina was riding close to her mother. Talking spiritedly, her mother was wont to reach out and touch her hands as they held the reins, as if to assure herself that Sara was really there. He rode in their wake, the Queen’s guards ranged around them. One of them looked familiar. As if he had seen him somewhere before. He frowned, but could not place him.
Sharpe had watched men mount and dismount before. Riding didn’t seem that hard, but when he dismounted, his horse moved and he almost fell. His legs felt like jelly. Damn!
“Haven’t been on a horse for a long while, sir?” The voice was polite.
“Never been on a horse before.” He gritted out.
Clutching the saddle horn for all he was worth, Sharpe tried to get his legs in working order and looked at the owner of the voice. It was familiar as well. Suddenly, it clicked. He grabbed the guard by his shiny mail vest and hauled him up to his face.
“You! You were the lad in the market place.”
Robin swallowed nervously. “Yes, sir. Indeed, sir. I was there. You rescued our princess.”
Sharpe frowned. Wait… Queen of what? Princess? He turned and looked at Sara and her mother. They were walking toward a large tent, towards a gaggle of women who were embracing Sara and weeping and exclaiming over her.
“Sir… if you don’t mind?”
Sharpe released the young guard and stood with his legs braced, one hand on a hip, the other raking through his hair. He looked around, trying to take it all in. They were in the largest, most ostentatious encampment he had ever seen. It looked like a page out of a fairy-tale book.
“Sir, if you’ll come this way?”
Sharpe looked at the young guard and limped towards him.
“What’s your name, lad?”
“Robin, sir.”
~~~
Robin, Sharpe decided, was worse than Harper. More persistent, more insistent, and if he didn’t seem so put on by his uncertain and ungracious temper, Sharpe would have suspected a good dose of annoying hero-worship as well.
In the space of a day, he had been barbered, shaved, put into new clothes, his saber cleaned until it gleamed and his stallion exchanged for a gentle gelding. He had healing hands too, Sharpe conceded, groaning as Robin worked the sweet smelling salve into the painfully tight muscles of his arse and lower limbs each day.
Sharpe found himself worked harder than he had in a long time. As they traveled, the horse master took him through his paces, drilling him in horsemanship. An all out brawl with a snotty courtier had resulted in lessons in self defense and swordsmanship. A finer blade than he had ever handled now rested against his leg. A skirmish with brigands determined, however, his superiority as a military officer as he led the guards and protected the caravan. He now set the marching order and the night pickets.
Through the entire journey, he got no closer to Saraphina than from across the dining table. Unless one counted the evening walks - chaperoned by two giggling maids and no less than five guards to his complete disgust.
Finally, they were met by another large party and carriages. Sharpe watched as the Queen and her ladies entered one, and Saraphina entered the other. Sharpe beckoned Robin over.
“See the second carriage?” he asked.
“The one with the Princess?”
“You will enter from the left, and I from the right. We will remove one maid each.”
Robin grinned. He had yet to instill the concept of a lady-in-waiting to the man from the other-side. It annoyed the ladies to no end to be called maids.
“What will that accomplish sir?”
“You’ll see.”
Robin did as he was told. Hauling a squawking woman out from the left while Sharpe did the same from the right. Then Sharpe pulled the coachman down.
“Up you go, Robin!” He cried, throwing him the whip. “Onward!”
Robin scrambled up, gathered the reins and cracked the whip as Sharpe jumped into the carriage and slammed the door.
“Richard!”
Saraphina gasped in amazement as the carriage jolted forward.
“Hello Sara. I’ve missed you.”
He pulled her into his lap and kissed her.