Merrick (5 page)

“I would like you
to tell me if there is something you want from me,” Merrick said softly.

“I’m in want of
nothing,” I said, somehow, though my voice came out in a whisper.

Damn it all. Whatever
had kept me in check in the shed was not helping me now. He laid a cool hand on
my cheek, his thumb stroking the skin near the corner of my mouth, and I felt
my features tremble in response.
Damn it all!

How could I tell
him that his tender gestures aroused such alarming deviance in me? How could I
reject his warmth and good will without revealing my own sickness, or offending
him? “Sir, you give me far more than I have any right to ask for…”

Merrick’s hand
trailed down my neck, tracing my throat, moving slowly down my chest and
lingering there so that his fingertips trailed with agonizing leisure over my
sensitive skin.

“Forgive me, sir,”
I blurted as a shiver ran through my body, terrifying me with the threat of
what I was starting to consider inevitable. In desperation, I stammered a
humiliated confession. “Something strange happens when you touch me like…”

“What happens,
exactly?” Merrick murmured, his hand continuing downwards until it rested on my
stomach and stroked there gently.

“Perhaps it is the
withdrawal from vice,” I suggested feebly, but hopefully. “I’ve only been
touched by women in my life, and so the response is, perhaps, a matter of
habit…”

“I don’t want you
to be uncomfortable, William.”

“I’m not
uncomfortable, sir,” I whispered, trembling as his thumb circled my navel
through the linen. Then I gasped as he suddenly laid his hand between my legs.
“Oh, God forgive me…” I whispered in a rush as my erection jumped in his hand.

“You’re right,
William,” he murmured. “It’s only natural.” He gently squeezed me through the
linen. “But this constant tension is a drain on your constitution.”

I let out a breath
when he released me, then stiffened when his hand slipped beneath the hem of my
night shirt. He dragged his knuckles softly up my inner thigh, over my balls
and up the length of my shaft, and I swore beneath my breath when he rubbed a
finger over the swollen tip, smearing the moisture there. “Christ, please, I…”
I could hardly think, much less form words. “Oh, stop, sir, before you think
me…” My body shuddered as he stroked me up and down, and I turned my head,
pressing my knuckles to my mouth as my other hand fumbled for his wrist to stop
him.

“Before I think
what?” Merrick whispered close to my ear, his hand moving along my shaft and
over the damp, sensitive tip with calm efficiency.

I meant to stop
him, but grasping his strong wrist in my hand somehow only increased my
feverish state; and then, to my horror, a greedy moan broke from my lips.
Tension was gathering between my hips, pulling at every extremity of my body,
thrumming in my bones. I was shifting, my legs moving restlessly on the bed. I
had no protests left. My hand moved from his wrist, groping for a more secure
hold, and found his muscular shoulder.

“It’s all right,
William,” he whispered.

The agonizing,
needful tension that had been building within my body finally broke, and I felt
like water spilling over the edge of a cliff. My body arched, my head thrown
back as the pleasure poured through me in a rush of unfathomable relief.

I only became
conscious of my own breathless cries as they faded into moans, and silenced
myself as best I could. As I struggled to catch my breath, my hand slipped from
Merrick’s shoulder and fell to lie on the mattress against his knee.

My body felt as
limp as a pool of silk. My thoughts were obliterated. Even in the wake of my
release I felt I was drifting through the darkness on slow waves of pleasure…

When I woke up,
Merrick was gone. It was dawn.

I sat up with a
jolt, remembering the night before almost immediately. Had I really gone to
sleep the moment after? I tossed the blankets back and lifted my nightshirt.

I was clean.

My head was filled
with my own heartbeat for a few moments.

I had dreamed it.
That was it. Blessed God, I had dreamed it.

Or
had
I? A
streak of doubt twisted my stomach and I looked around for some sign.
Unsurprisingly, there was no clue to help me. Why would there be?

Of course I had
dreamed it. Merrick would not have done such a thing. It wouldn’t make sense –
so easily, so suddenly! And if it had happened, there was no way I would have
simply drifted off to sleep as soon as it was over. No! In real life, I would
have lain awake in sheer agony, my thoughts racing until dawn.

And besides, there
was no sign of it on my body. No stain on my skin or night shirt.

I exhaled softly,
cautiously letting in a sense of relief.

But
…

What if he had
cleaned me up himself?

My stomach turned.
Oh, God. Wouldn’t that make just as much sense? For Merrick was unfailingly
courteous, and in fact, hadn’t I found release, in any case, whether waking or
sleeping? Wouldn’t there be some sign, either way, if no one had got rid of the
evidence?

I felt a cold knot
of dread forming in my stomach.

Right. I closed my
eyes, grim. Hypothetically, if it
had
happened, how bad was it?

A chorus of my own
hungry moans echoed through my ears and the incident came back to me in a rush
that doubled me over, my face in flames. I hissed a string of vulgar oaths
under my breath.

What could have
driven him to do it? Could he not have foreseen how his act of pity would have
left me humiliated?

I clutched my
hair, willfully calming myself by the steady pound of my pulse.

Reason
.
Stick
to reason
.

No. Merrick would
not have done something like that.

It was absurd to
even think of it. No man touched another man like that so casually.

The more obvious
likelihood, by far, was that my frustrated body – strung impossibly tight by these
two weeks without any stimulation – had found its own release in a dream. And
by some random fluke, there had been no real emission. All the better.

That was it.

Surely.

A commotion from
the front of the cottage dragged me suddenly from my fretting. I rose quickly
and dressed even faster, tripping and hitting the floor in the process.

When I finally
made it to the front of the house, Merrick was standing outside in his robe
seeing off a horse that galloped quickly down the road. He turned to me.

“Hope Smith is
delivering early in Mayriver,” he said. “I’ll need your help.”

I blinked as he
went past me into the house, then hurried after him, ready for instruction.
“Don’t they have midwives in the village?” I asked.

“They have one,
and she is busy. Watch what I gather.” He said the name of each thing he picked
up for his satchel, as though there were any chance I would remember it all in
this state. I nodded dutifully and followed him outside.

Weather was
suddenly there, of course, waiting for him. I watched Merrick mount the horse
and almost didn’t register it when he held his hand out to me.

“Behind me,” he
said. “Hold on tightly.”

I ducked my head,
remembering the feeling of his muscled shoulder in my grip the night before,
and clumsily got onto the horse behind him. When I put my hands to his waist,
he impatiently reached down to pull my arms completely around him. Flush
against his back, I closed my eyes for half the ride and tried not to think of
what had happened the night before – whether I’d dreamed it or not.

Mayriver was a
gloomy little village to my eye, though to its credit it was neat and
well-populated. I saw a couple of charming young women, but no more than a couple,
and people for the most part looked solemn and surly. Perhaps it was the foggy
weather. But even with twice the fog, I imagined Merrick’s odd little cottage
in the woods would be more welcoming than this lonely settlement any day.

Hope Smith was a lovely
young woman in a great deal of pain. I understood nothing that went on in that
horrible room other than the screams and convulsions of the poor girl as she
strained to eject her miserable-looking little miracle. The whole way through I
thought how glad I was to be a man, and of how wretched we were for taking this
terrifying act for granted. I could hardly believe it when young Hope, damp and
exhausted on the bed, had the peace and poise to speak to the women in the
room, and to Merrick. She clasped his leather glove and thanked him tearfully
before he bid her goodbye.

A crowd of young
women were waiting to speak to him in the main room. Some were ready with
inquiries and entreaties. A few whispered and passed him notes. He patiently
bowed his head to each as he moved in his feeble shuffle towards the door,
speaking quietly to a few. I wondered if any of them would be showing up late
one night for a special dose of tea.

Staying behind for
awhile to speak with Hope’s mother, Merrick sent me into the general store for
a few groceries. I approached the counter in a daze and made my requests.

“Just come from
Hope Smith’s, have ye?”

I looked at the
old grocer and nodded numbly.

“All’s well?”

I nodded.

The grocer
chuckled. “First time?” He smiled at my nod and let me be.

I still hadn’t
spoken when we got back to the cottage at nightfall. I made tea at Merrick’s
bidding and sat at the table with my cup, staring blankly into the steam.

“Might I gather
that the birth made an impression on you?” Merrick asked at last, sipping his
tea in the corner. He had removed his cloak on returning to the house.

I shook my head
slightly. At last I remarked, my voice still full of astonishment, “The things
expected of women!”

“Yes,” Merrick
said slowly, and I found a rueful look in his eye. “Indeed.”

I couldn’t help
recalling the many boastful stories I’d heard from men who found their joy in
seducing servant girls. How cruel it seemed now. “Have you lost any of them?”

“No.”

“Why, you must be
in great demand, then.”

“It depends on the
family. Most prefer women for the tasks involved, and some girls find my
appearance frightful.”

“It
is
a
bit Death-like,” I admitted, then looked at him with wide eyes. “Pardon my
saying so…”

He laughed softly.
“I know,” he agreed. “But it encourages people to leave me alone, and my
options are limited anyway.” After a moment he added, “I am rather sensitive to
the sunlight.”

I raised my
eyebrows, then remembered not to look too interested. That made sense, I
supposed.

I had considered
the possibility that he was some sort of vampire. I’d heard tales of them. Yet,
he was awake in the day, wasn’t he? And whose blood would he be drinking, here
in the middle of nowhere? I supposed there were other types of immortals who
could not bear the sunlight.

Besides, most
importantly, vampires were said to be hideously ugly, with razor-sharp teeth
and fetid breath. Merrick was…well, he wasn’t hard to look at, and I had a
feeling his breath smelled of mint tea.

“Are you not
frightened by me?” Merrick asked after a peaceful silence.

“No, sir.”

“You seem
remarkably at peace with the idea that I am not human.”

That was a fair
point. “Well,” I said slowly. “I must accept facts. There’s no denying
something is out of the ordinary with you. You’ve been in this area and
practicing for forty years. You ought to look old, but you don’t. And there was
the cut on my hand. No getting around that one.”

He seemed vaguely
amused. “Anything else?”

“Well, there was
that resin you burned to make me speak honestly. I could dismiss that on its
own as the natural magic of botany, I suppose, but along with the rest, it’s a
little suspicious.” I paused. “And then there’s that horse. How does she always
come around when you need her?”

Merrick tilted his
head as though surprised, and then a smile spread over his features. “I whistle
for her, William.”

I blinked, and
then felt a little stupid. “Oh.” I thought it over for a moment with a frown.
“Aren’t horses kept tied up?”

“Many are. But she
stays near her food and her comfortable stable.”

“Oh. Then it’s not
the work of some charm.”

“I didn’t say
that, exactly,” he admitted.

Hmm. “You said
you’re not a human
anymore
,” I said. “What does that mean? Did you give
up your soul?”

“I don’t believe
so.”

I wished he’d tell
me just what he was, but I supposed I was lucky he seemed willing to let me try
and figure it out. He was truly a teacher by nature. Or maybe he simply thought
that if I wasn’t clever enough to solve his riddles, I didn’t deserve the
answers. That was fair enough.

Anyway, it wasn’t
like there was much else to do out in this isolated cave-cottage but put my
mind to a puzzle.

“Two hundred and
eighty-two,” I pondered. “That means you were born in…1517?” I watched him nod.
“In England? Under Henry VIII?”

“That’s right.”

What a thought
that was. “And is this the body you had when you became what you are now?”

“Yes. I was
twenty-three.”

“Twenty-three,” I
mused. “Are you a ghost?” I asked curiously. “Have you died?”

Merrick set his
book aside and folded his hands, looking at me. “Do you take me in jest?”

I straightened,
surprised. “No, sir! Have I offended you?”

“No, William. But
I cannot comprehend your demeanor. Are you not disturbed by the thought of
speaking with a walking corpse?”

I frowned, thinking
about it. “No,” I said at last, puzzled myself. “No, I suppose I’m not.”

“And if I were a
witch, that would not disturb you?”

“No, sir. As I’ve
told you, my own mother does things that could be called witchcraft. Like all
the Indians. I’ve carried plenty of charms in my life,” I added, though I
couldn’t remember having admitted that to anyone.

“And if I had no
soul?”

“Master Merrick,”
I said helplessly. “If you intended to frighten me, you should not have been so
kind. You’ve made a fine impression on me already, so I don’t mind if you’re a
witch, wizard, or ghoul. I have no particular prejudices against any of them.”

Merrick studied
me, then shook his head in defeat and opened his book. “You are an interesting
young man, William Lacy.”

It wasn’t the first
time I’d heard that, but the way he said it warmed my heart a little. I hoped
he did find me interesting. “Did you like England, sir?”

He looked up
again, raising his eyebrow. “No,” he said. “I was poor, and it was a cruel
place then. I left as soon as I could.”

“Why did you come
to the New World?”

“Because I had
always wanted to.” Merrick closed his book and rose from his chair. As I
watched, worried that I had annoyed him, he came and sat on the bench beside
me. “What’s this you’re reading?”

“It fascinates me
so,” I remarked. The book was a directory of local herbs and their Indian uses,
with intricate drawings of each plant as well as some delightful illustrations
of Indian scenes. Interspersed throughout were sections on beliefs and magical
practices. “And it is a lovely book, finely made…”

“There is still
much to learn from the Indians,” Merrick said quietly, looking over my shoulder
at the page. “It’s a shame what knowledge will be lost as the nation moves
westward.”

He smelled like
cedar and soap, a familiar scent by now and one I had grown very fond of. I
couldn’t help remembering then how we’d bathed the day before in the lean-to.
Ah,
I remembered.
I ought to reply.
“Yes,” I agreed, and propped my chin on
my hand thoughtfully as I looked down at a drawing of a woman in a leather
dress holding a feathered wand aloft. “I’d like to see an Indian. On their
land, I mean. That is…”

“I’m sure you will
meet them.” He turned the page.

“Do you ever treat
the Indians?”

“Not here. But we
trade. They are fond of a certain tea of mine.”

“Which one?”

“An aid to marital
passion.”

“I always wondered
what was in those,” I mused. “And if they worked.”

He turned the
page. After a moment he rose and moved behind me in the kitchen, pouring
another cup of tea. “I will be in the cavern.”

I turned to look
at him. “Is there anything I ought to do, sir?”

He stopped in the
bedroom doorway. The straight line of his collarbone caught the lamplight, and
his black hair gleamed. “No, William. Retire when you’d like. And thank you for
your help today.”

“No thanks needed,
sir,” I replied. “Goodnight.”

Before I got into
bed, I padded to the covered doorway at the rear of the room. The hide covering
the opening was soft and heavy, but a faint, cool draft escaped the seams. I curiously
lifted the edge to peek inside.

The leather
covered a narrow crevice in the rock that began a dark passageway sloping
gently down and then disappearing around a corner. No light was inside except
what came from my own candlestick.

I dropped the leather
with a shiver. How far away was Merrick? What was there with him?

Returning to the
bed, I felt completely spooked. I looked around the quiet room with sheepish
anxiety, hoping Merrick wasn’t too far, and that there were no ghouls between
us. I didn’t mind if he was one, but at that moment I wasn’t interested in
meeting any others.

I snuffed the
candle and lay back, sighing.

I was back in the
bed.

It felt like my
brain tried to pick up right where I’d left off, thinking about the night
before. But I’d all but concluded it was just a dream. I pushed it all out of
mind as best I could, though it was hard to ignore the memory of how powerful
the dream had been – how I’d never felt something like that before.

Enough!

I put my hand over
the source of my trouble, as if that would prevent anything. This was getting
exhausting. It certainly couldn’t last forever. Sooner or later, I’d get used
to Merrick, and to the fact that there were no girls around. My body would
settle down, and I’d forget all about these strange little urges.

Sooner or later.