by Sk Quinn
‘Please don’t talk like that,’ I say. ‘You could have many more years left.’
‘No,’ says May firmly. ‘I don’t. And nor do I want many more years. I’ve had my time.’ She claps her hands together. ‘A wedding. A wedding. There’s nothing like it for bringing life into a place.’
‘Uh huh.’
‘Oh don’t feel nervous, my dear,’ says May. ‘When I married, the Germans were trying to bomb us. If all you’ve got to worry about is your dress and your manners, I’d say you’re doing okay.’
I laugh. ‘Yes. You’re right. But … there’s Bertie to think about too. I don’t want to be away from him right now. If there are lots of things to plan …’
‘You needn’t worry,’ says May. ‘There will be plenty of people on hand to help you. And as for Bertie … perhaps it’s time we brought in some professional help for him. So he can deal with what he’s gone through.’
‘No.’ I shake my head firmly. ‘No, that wouldn’t work for Bertie. Believe me. Bringing new people into his life right now … definitely not. He needs to be with me. And Patrick. People he trusts. We can help him. Truly I believe we can. Better than some stranger with a degree in child psychology. We know him. We love him. We’re the ones who can help him through this.’ I sigh. ‘I just think it’ll take some time.’
4
I find Patrick in the West Wing lounge. He’s standing by the fire with his back to the door, hands on hips.
I’m reminded of when I first arrived at the castle. Seeing Patrick’s broad back and thick blond hair glowing in the firelight. I smile, remembering how he knew it was me before he even turned around.
‘Seraphina?’
My smile grows. He hasn’t lost his touch.
‘I won’t bother asking how you knew it was me,’ I say, closing the door.
With the tiniest smile, he says, ‘Lost again Miss Harper?’
‘Oh no Mr Mansfield. Not any more. I never get lost these days. I know exactly where I am.’
‘Take a seat.’
‘Over here, Mr Mansfield?’ I say innocently, taking a seat on the embroidered sofa.
‘Exactly right. Maybe I’ll keep you in my employment after all. Since you seem to know what you’re doing these days …’
‘Not always,’ I murmur, my eyes locked on his.
‘Perhaps we should have a review,’ says Patrick. ‘Of your progress.’
He leans down and runs a firm hand down my thigh.
‘Yes sir,’ I murmur.
‘I’m not sure I’ve seen enough just yet.’ He grabs my ankle and pulls off a cowboy boot.
‘You’ve seen quite a bit,’ I say, feeling myself fall back into the sofa.
‘But I need to see a little more …’ He pulls off my other cowboy boot and lifts up both my ankles so I fall right back onto the sofa.
Patrick places my left foot on his shoulder, so my backside is kind of in the air.
‘Now what?’ I ask.
‘Now I’m going to see how you perform under difficult conditions,’ says Patrick, undoing my skinny jeans and sliding them off with my panties.
The fire warms my bare backside.
‘What sort of conditions?’
‘I’ll ask the questions, Miss Harper,’ says Patrick, folding my knees towards my shoulders. ‘I’ll have you following orders if it’s the last thing I do. Now. Shut up and open your legs.’
‘Mr Mansfield, are you sure this is part of my job description?’
‘Positive.’ He grabs my buttocks in his strong fingers.
I let out a moan. ‘I’m not so sure.’
‘Shut up, or I’ll cancel your pay cheque.’ Patrick takes himself out of his underwear and lines himself up between my legs.
‘I didn’t realise you were still paying me.’
‘That all depends on how well you perform.’
I laugh, sinking back into the sofa. Then I gasp as Patrick enters me and begins to move.
He pins my shoulders down.
We watch each other as he moves, back and forth, back and forth.
His hands stroke up and down my thighs, nearing my hips.
Patrick’s pace builds up and up until he’s forcing me into the sofa with every thrust.
I cling to him and cry out – hardly able to breathe.
His hands reach under my jumper, finding my ribs. I gasp as he squeezes my breasts, his thumbs moving back and forth, creating little electric shocks.
‘You’re going to be a beautiful bride,’ he whispers into my ear. ‘God. So beautiful.’ He squeezes my breasts again, then slides his hands around my ribs to the bare skin on my back.
His fingers caress my skin as he moves inside me. I throw my head back and moan, luxuriating at his touch.
‘I’m going to come,’ I murmur. ‘Oh god Patrick, I’m going to come.’
Patrick sits back and pulls me onto his lap.
He’s still inside me, and as my weight comes down he goes in extra deep.
I gasp. ‘Oh! Oh! OH!’
Waves of pleasure flow over me as an orgasm moves up, up, up. My body feels warm, my eyes softly close and I hear myself moaning Patrick’s name.
Patrick pulls me against his chest, his arms wrapped around me.
We’re face to face now, looking deep into each other’s eyes.
‘I love you,’ he says, strong hands clasped firmly on my buttocks. ‘I’ve loved you from the first moment I saw you.’
‘I love you too.’
His face changes and I see he’s coming. I feel him pulsing inside me.
‘God,’ he murmurs, pushing his face into my neck.
We sit like that for a while, gripping each other by the fire.
Then he slips a finger down between my legs and runs it back and forth.
It doesn’t take much at all. A few tiny strokes of his finger and I come again, my whole body melting into him.
It feels amazing, and I hear Patrick groan and see his eyes close as I throb around him.
Fire light glows over our naked legs and we grip each other, clinging on for dear life.
Then Patrick carries me half naked through the halls to his bedroom.
I whisper: ‘What if someone sees us?’
‘They won’t. There’s no one around.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I just know.’
5
When we get to Patrick’s bedroom, he lays me on the bed.
‘We didn’t use a condom,’ I say.
‘Why would we?’ says Patrick.
‘For the usual reasons. Mainly to stop us having children.’
‘And why would we want to do that? We’re engaged. It’s entirely honourable for you to have a young Patrick Mansfield now.’
I laugh. ‘I really don’t think that would be a good idea right now. Especially with Wila being pregnant …’
‘Relax, Seraphina. You’re not pregnant.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Believe me, Seraphina. You’re not pregnant. You’ll get your period in about a week. I guarantee it. Don’t you know your own cycle?’
‘Not really. How do you know it?’
‘Spending time with nature. Watching the moon. It seems obvious to me.’
I think back to when I last had my period and realise he’s right.
Probably.
‘But you’re okay for me to get pregnant?’ I ask.
‘Of course I am. The only reason I ever used contraception was for your sake. I didn’t want you scandalised.’
I laugh. ‘Unmarried people have babies these days Patrick. It happens all the time.’
‘Maybe I’m old fashioned. But believe it or not I care about your reputation.’
‘Thank you. But you don’t mind getting me pregnant the second we’re engaged?’
‘Don’t mind in the slightest.’
‘You know, condoms aren’t just about not getting pregnant.’
‘I’m aware of that. And I get tested reg
ularly.’
‘You do?’
‘Of course. In the army we were tested. And it became a habit. A good one. I respect women. I wouldn’t want to carry anything that might hurt you.’
‘Oh. That’s … good.’
‘And I was tested a month before I met you.’
‘Glad to hear it.’
I take off the rest of the clothes and snuggle under the silk duvet.
‘Patrick?’
‘Yes Seraphina?’
‘I love you.’
‘I love you too.’ He throws himself on the bed and rolls to face me. ‘You know – this castle is yours now.’
‘Patrick, we’re not even married yet …’
‘That doesn’t matter. The castle was yours as soon as you walked into it.’
‘Why did you frown?’
‘Just thinking about my father.’
‘What about him?’
‘He still has a claim over this place. And I wish he didn’t.’
‘Surely not while he’s in prison?’
‘No. Not while he’s in prison. As long as he stays there.’
I try to lighten the mood. ‘So you’re saying this bedroom is mine now?’
‘Completely.’
‘Funny. Because the whole wardrobe of army clothes and guns tells me this is very much your bedroom.’
‘Then redecorate,’ says Patrick. ‘And while you’re at it, redecorate the rest of the castle and make it your home.’
‘Really?’ I ask. ‘You’d let me do that?’
‘I’d love you to,’ says Patrick. ‘The West Wing isn’t so bad. But the rest of the castle reminds me far too much of my father. It needs to be a home again. For us. And any more of us who might come along.’
‘Bertie might not like any changes right now,’ I say.
‘Bertie will come back to us,’ says Patrick, wrapping his arms around me. ‘I promise he will.’
‘May doesn’t think so.’
‘May doesn’t know how magical you are.’
‘Maybe you think I’m magical, but really I’m not.’
I wait for a reply.
But Patrick has fallen asleep.
6
The next day, I decide to take Bertie into the woods.
Just the two of us.
I ask Vicky to pack us a picnic breakfast of croissants, jam and a flask of hot chocolate. And of course, some milk and liquorice for Bertie.
Then I wake Bertie up and help him choose warm clothes.
He dresses and follows me outside like a lost puppy dog. All blank eyed and sad looking.
I want the old Bertie back. The one who got angry. The one who smashed up his Xbox. The one I knew how to help.
But I have a plan.
The air is light and fresh, and sunshine lights up the forest path as Bertie and I head into the woods.
Eventually we reach the right part of the woods.
‘Well Bertie,’ I say. ‘We’ve definitely earned our breakfast now, don’t you think?’
I spread out a tartan picnic blanket over twigs and leaves.
Bertie sits on the edge of the cloth.
God, I really do miss the old Bertie. The rebellious little boy who wouldn’t do what he was told. I liked him so much better than this robot.
But I haven’t given up hope. I’m sure the old Bertie is in there somewhere.
After I spread out the picnic, I offer Bertie some milk.
He drinks it, but won’t touch anything else.
‘Are you sure you don’t want a croissant?’ I coax. ‘Vicky made these herself. She trained in Paris. I’m not sure you’ve ever tried one.’
He turns his head away.
‘Well I’m going to eat one,’ I say, taking a big bite of croissant. ‘Wow. This is delicious.’
Bertie slurps down the rest of his milk but won’t touch anything else – not even the liquorice.
We sit for a while under the trees. Little shoots of green are pushing their way out the branches, and there’s a beautiful smell of damp leaves and flower perfume.
It’s lovely out here. I really do believe kids should be outside as often as possible. I think it can be healing – especially somewhere wild and free like this. Nothing touched by mankind.
I chatter about nothing in particular – the winter flower shoots coming up. The cold weather up here in Scotland.
And then I say, ‘Oh, look at that Bertie. A bird’s nest.’
I point up at a tree.
I knew the bird’s nest was there all along, of course. That’s why I chose this picnic spot.
Bertie’s head twitches just a fraction. Enough to tell me he heard what I said. But he doesn’t look up.
‘I bet there are some interesting eggs in that nest,’ I say. ‘Maybe I should go up and take a look. They say you’re not supposed to disturb bird’s nests. But I’m sure it will be fine if I’m just looking.’
I notice Bertie’s eyes widen a little. Slowly, he turns his head to the bird’s nest.
‘Well, up I go!’ I say brightly, going to the tree and getting a foothold.
I hear a little noise, and realise it’s Bertie saying a very gentle, ‘No.’
‘Did you say something Bertie?’ I ask.
But his lips clamp shut.
‘Oh well, up I go then,’ I say, hauling myself up onto the first branch.
Pretty soon I’ve climbed right near the bird’s nest – near enough to see it’s empty. I knew there wouldn’t be any eggs inside. It’s way too early in the year.
But Bertie doesn’t know that.
‘There are two eggs in here!’ I whisper. ‘Blue ones. Maybe I should take them out so we can have a look.’
Bertie’s eyes go all wide and wild, and to my great delight he takes hold of a branch and pulls himself up into the tree.
Within seconds, he’s reached me and starts pulling at my leg.
‘What’s that Bertie?’ I say innocently. ‘You want me to come down?’
He nods.
‘I can’t hear you Bertie,’ I say. ‘Are you sure we shouldn’t just have a little play with these eggs?’
‘Mustn’t,’ Bertie says, pulling at my leg even harder. ‘Don’t touch them. Leave them alone. The birds will die.’
I smile. ‘Okay Bertie. I won’t touch them. Come on. Let’s climb down.’
When we get to the ground, I take a seat on the picnic blanket and Bertie does too.
‘So,’ I say. ‘You’re still in there. I was worried we might have lost you.’
Bertie doesn’t say anything more. But his little hand shoots out and grabs a stick of liquorice.
I smile to myself.
There’s a lot of work to do. But I don’t believe Bertie is completely lost. At least, not yet.
‘Bertie,’ I ask. ‘Grandma May said … I mean, she just had an idea. That it might be good to see someone special. To help you get over what you’ve been through.’
Bertie shakes his head.
‘I know,’ I say. ‘That’s what I feel too. I can help you. And so can Patrick. Maybe your mother too. Right? But no strangers.’
‘Just you Sera,’ says Bertie. ‘Just me and you.’
7
When we get back for lunch, I find Wila in the great hall.
With Grey.
They’re laughing together, Grey stabbing at something on Wila’s plate with his fork.
I put my hands on my hips.
‘Are you two having fun?’ I say, glaring at Grey.
‘Lots of fun,’ says Wila, smiling. She’s so innocent, with her big, blue eyes and little pixie face. She has no idea what Grey’s like.
‘What about you, Grey?’ I ask. ‘Having fun with my little sixteen-year-old sister?’
‘Ah, big sister has arrived,’ says Grey, swivelling round to face me. ‘I can always count on you to think the worst of me, Seraphina. Wila and I were just talking. As friends. She’s far too young for me, if you’re worried about anything else.’
‘We were just talking Sera,’ says Wila.
‘Nothing for you to panic about,’ says Grey.
‘You told Patrick we were “just talking”,’ I say. ‘After you followed me up to my bedroom.’
‘But I didn’t try anything, did I?’
‘Depends what you count as trying something.’
‘Look, I’m a flirt. I admit it.’ His gaze wanders to the kitchen hatch as Vicky walks past. ‘But you needn’t worry. I’ve got my eye on someone else.’
I’m pretty sure Vicky knows Greg is out here, because her walk is a little showier than usual.
‘Well helloooo Victoria,’ Greg calls out.
Vicky gives him a beautiful smile. ‘Hello Grey.’
‘Just keep your hands off my sister,’ I tell Grey.
‘Pheeny!’ says Wila, her eyes widening. ‘He hasn’t done anything with his hands. And I can think for myself, you know. Grey and I are just friends. That’s all.’
‘We’ll be relatives soon,’ Grey tells me. ‘Since you’re marrying my half brother. So your lovely little sister will be my half sister by marriage.’
‘Even more reason to keep your hands off.’
‘I am hurt. Hurt. Don’t you trust me at all?’
‘Not an awful lot. But Patrick seems to. So I suppose I don’t have a lot of choice.’
‘You’ll warm to me in the end,’ says Grey. ‘Just like little Wila here. Isn’t that right?’ He winks at Wila.
Wila giggles. ‘You’re funny.’
‘Grey!’ I glare at him.
‘He’s nice, Pheeny,’ says Wila. ‘I haven’t been a great judge of character lately. But I’m pretty sure Grey’s okay.’ She yawns. ‘I think I’m going to have a nap. I’m tired all of a sudden.’
That’ll be because you’re building a new life, I want to say. But I don’t want Grey knowing that Wila’s pregnant. He’ll have to know soon, of course. But the later the better.