My Familiar Stranger

by Victoria Danann

  As she jerked back from the kiss, she gasped and, for a moment, struggled to get her breath. She knew what she had to do and also knew that she would rather reach into her chest, pull her heart out, and set it on fire.

  “What’s wrong? Please tell me my kissing isn’t that bad.”

  She looked up at Storm, eyes starting to tear. “I’m so sorry, Storm. I don’t expect you to forgive me so I won’t ask.”

  He straightened and dropped his hands to his sides. “Ram,” was all he said.

  “I owe you my life - two times over. And, I do love you. But not this way. If it was just the two of us…,” she trailed off and paused to wipe tears away with the back of her hand. “I wanted it to be you. Please believe that.”

  Storm looked out at the plane taxiing and gave a slight nod. “I do believe you, Elora. It’d be dishonest if I said I was completely surprised. I guess you’d have to be blind not to see that the two of you are in love.”

  He turned and looked at the plane coming to a stop on the tarmac and fingered the photo he carried in his breast pocket - the photo of the pink Italianate villa in the middle of the Sonoma Coast vineyard he constantly fantasized about, the one he had hoped to show her and maybe share with her someday soon. “Sometimes hope and denial go hand in hand.”

  He turned back to Elora. “I’d like to hate him. But I can’t. I loved him first. I’d like to blame him for wanting you, but I can't really do that either, can I?" He ran the backs of his fingers down her cheek. “Are you sure this is what you want? I’ve known Ram a long time. He’s a mixed bag.”

  “It’s not a choice, Storm. I thought it was, but it’s not.” She circled her arms around his waist and squeezed tight. “I won’t forget how much I owe you. I swear it.”

  He pulled back a little and did that thing where he ducked down to look eye to eye with her. “You don’t owe me a thing, Princess. I did what I did and I wouldn’t change it.”

  He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead and gave her a smile that didn’t make it all the way to his eyes. Then, looking just a little older, he picked up his bag and walked to the plane without once looking back.

  She stayed long enough to watch him board. That’s what character looks like. And she knew why three other dominants would turn to him in a crisis situation, when a final decision has to be made. He was that guy.

  Luckily the driver had stopped in the hangar for coffee and was still there to give her a ride back.

  She tried calling Ram from the jeep, but got a “no service” response. After running to her apartment carrying her suitcase because it turns out those little wheels aren’t made to go so fast, she raced to the dining desk and located the note.

  It said, “Go to the southern gates of New Forest in the north of Ireland. Closest airport is Derry. You can get a car to the town of Black-On-Tarry. Ask for Liam O’Torvall. Dress warm.”

  Note in hand, she ran to the Operations Office and read the directions, everything except who to ask for and to dress warm. Ms. Farnsworth jotted notes smiling and, looking through the top half of bifocals, said, “We’re familiar with how to arrange this trip. We’ve done it for Sir Hawking many times.”

  “Oh! Good. How soon can you get me there?”

  “That will depend on when we have a jet going to Edinburgh.” She pulled up a screen on one of her several monitors. “Could you be ready to go at five this evening?”

  “Absolutely!”

  “From Edinburgh you must take a small charter to Derry and you’ll have to pay for that leg at your own expense.”

  Elora frowned. “Do I have enough money for that?”

  Ms. Farnsworth suppressed a snort and smiled indulgently. “Yes. You do. Likewise, we can arrange to have a car there to take you on to Black-On-Tarry, but you’ll have to…”

  “…pay for it at my own expense. Just get me there as soon as possible except that I need a freshen-up stop en route - some place to take a shower, dry my hair, change clothes, you know.”

  “Indeed I do.”

  Elora started away, but came right back. “What about… I mean, do I need some, ah, money? And I don’t know how much is on the credit card I was issued?”

  “I will arrange for you to have Irish money on hand and your credit card is not likely to be declined for any reason. Be back here at four. I’ll have the documents ready and don’t forget your passport.”

  Elora gave her a big smile. “Ms. Farnsworth. If you will open this little half door thingy, I will come in there and give you a big kiss.”

  “That’s quite alright, Lady Laiken. The light in your eyes is thanks enough.”

  She had five hours to pack clothes that fit the direction to dress warm. She dumped the contents of her rolling suitcase on the bed, then remembered Ram’s Yule present and tore into it. Inside pink tissue paper was a pair of soft gray sweat pants with big, pink letters across the rear end reading JUICY. She laughed out loud and teared up at the same time in a war of emotions wondering how she could have ever thought she could live without him. “Very fetchin’ britches,” she said to herself. The pants went in the bag first.

  She kept out the hat and scarf they bought together at Bloomingdales to go in her backpack. He liked her in winter white.

  Most of her warm clothes had been bought with Ram’s help before they went to Romania. She packed them all. Next went in her prettiest lingerie which, all of a sudden, seemed way too heavy on function and way too light on sexy. Oh, well. Last was toiletries, hair dryer, and make-up. Three hours left. She ran downstairs again. When she arrived, Ms. Farnsworth looked up and said, “You’re early.”

  “I’m not ready. I need to get to a drug store for some, uh, things.”

  Without looking away, Ms. Farnsworth snapped her fingers and a young man appeared as if by magic. “Take Lady Laiken to the closest pharmacy, Daniel, and make sure she is back here well before three o’clock.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I didn’t bring my credit card down with me. Give me a minute.”

  Ms. Farnsworth rolled her eyes, reached in a drawer and handed over three one hundred dollar bills. “That should be sufficient.”

  Elora took the money. She’d never worked anywhere else, but she was pretty sure this job had great perquisites. “Thank you.”

  “No thanks are necessary. It will be deducted from your monthly statement.”

  “I get a monthly statement?”

  “Yes.” Ms. Farnsworth blinked as she appeared to be summoning patience. “Do you have time to discuss that now?”

  Elora grinned and shook her head no.

  She returned from the drugstore errand with just enough time to throw on her travel clothes and load the backpack with the magazines she’d just bought, toiletries, and a change so she could make a grooming stop when she was closer to New Forest.

  Butterflies had taken up residence in her stomach were working overtime. Now that the decision was made, she couldn’t wait to get to Ram.

  She tried his phone again. No service.

  ***

  CHAPTER 21

  The New Forest Preserve is surrounded by a combination of hedges and rock fences. The village of Black-On-Tarry, which is part of the Preserve, is protected, or isolated, by a large wall.

  Entrance by a huge wooden door can be granted by special invitation only.

  Elora asked the driver to wait. She pulled a large, knotted rope connected to a rusty bell. After a couple of minutes passed, she was about to ring the bell again when a panel slid open.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m Elora Laiken. I’m here to see, um, Liam O’Torvall.”

  “Wait here.”

  Ten minutes later the gate opened.

  “Lady Laiken, welcome. I’m Liam O’Torvall. Please to call me Liam.” A plump man in a heavy, brown boiled wool tunic came out smiling and offering to take her luggage. She paid the driver and followed Mr. O’Torvall beyond the gate. “If we start right away, we shall be there by mid day.”
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br />   “How do you do. Liam? Is this is not my destination?”

  “Oh no. We must take a cart. ‘Tis some distance to the huntin’ cottage.”

  “A cart?”

  “Yes. This way then.”

  Looking around she realized that the village was medieval in every way, not a sign of modernity anywhere. It could have been a movie set, an amusement park, or one of those historical tourist attractions. In any case she found herself thinking what a good job they had done recreating a scene from centuries past. Doors and doorways were decorated with festive greenery and red ribbons to commemorate the season.

  The people, or rather elves, were curious and stared as she passed, but smiled warmly if she made eye contact. Most of them had their hair pulled back behind pointed ears which, in her view, added to the charm. Illustrations from a book of fairy tales.

  “Aye, lass. Travel by cart is the only way to get to the huntin’ cottage besides walkin’ or ridin’ and either of those would be tricky with your very fine bag with the little wheels. If you were walkin’, you would also need to be wearin’ your Wellies on a day such as today. If you were ridin’ you would need a different sort of cloak, would you no’?”

  “I suppose all of that is true.”

  “If you be peckish, we may find a repast to your likin’ before we start away.”

  “No. I’m not hungry. Just eager.”

  He looked back at her and chuckled at that. She followed him to a stable where a large, golden draft horse, perhaps the biggest horse she had ever seen, was harnessed to an actual cart with two wooden wheels. There was a simple bench seat in front and space in the cargo area for suitcases.

  While she waited, Liam disappeared into the stable for a few minutes and returned leading a very fine, young bay gelding by a halter which he tied to the rear. The horse was wearing a tan wool blanket to keep his coat sleek, shiny, and free of extra winter hair. She climbed up, sat next to Liam, and they drove away from the tiny town onto a road that might better be described as a well worn path.

  She was glad Ram had added the “dress warm” postscript and was especially glad for the cashmere socks he had once insisted she buy. Even with them on her toes were feeling the extra crisp air in her leather boots.

  The ground was covered with a light dusting of snow and the tree branches were dripping ice. It was beautiful, but cold. The cart would be short on comfort under any circumstances, but even more so when winter made the ground harder. The wooden wheels navigating an uneven dirt road made her grateful for a generous flare of hips that cushioned her spine.

  Liam talked incessantly as they continued deep into the woods.

  “Why, may I ask, are we leading the pretty gelding?”

  “Oh. I would not leave you with just one horse! This three-year-old belongs to your host. Sleek and strong, but good-natured and very gentle. He’ll be givin’ you no trouble at all.” Elora smiled to herself that Liam assumed she would require a novice’s ride. “And a very fine horseman he is, too.”

  “Ram?”

  “The same.”

  “So there are no cars here?”

  “No cars, electronics, or anything powered by somethin' other than human or beast. Rammel’s great grandfather is responsible. He was a visionary who saw the future of the world and caused these lands to be set aside to preserve the old ways. Those of us who live here have chosen to forego the excitement and convenience of electricity for the serenity of peace and the beauty of nature. Life is good and we have him to thank.”

  She looked around. No phone, no lights, no motor cars. Not a single luxury. Like Robinson Crusoe, it’s primitive as can be.

  “I see. You sound like a philosopher.”

  “Oh, no. Truly. A simpler man may no' be found on the green earth. The young prince has always preferred the woods to palace life. Wild child he was.” Liam chuckled with fondness.

  “Wild child. Ram once called himself that.”

  “Aye. The young prince may have been only ten the first time he ran away and came here. After three times his father settled a charge on me to watch after the boy when he showed up at the cottage. ‘Tis why my wife and I have such a deep and abidin’ fondness for the lad.”

  “But that’s not the same hunting cottage we’re going to. Is it?”

  Liam looked confused. “Aye, the very same.”

  “So Ram has the prince’s permission to use his hunting cottage?”

  He grew very quiet. For Liam. Which seemed disturbing. “Em. I hope I have no’ spoke out of turn.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean His Highness,” he glanced sideways and then said pointedly, “Rammel Hawking, speaks very highly of you. Calls you a most uncommon lass. And here we are.”

  Just ahead Elora saw a storybook cottage, white plaster on stone with a thick thatched roof and could not look more inviting. Her first impression was that it is no wonder he loves it here! With snow on the ground it blended into surroundings so well that it could almost be overlooked. There was an outbuilding to the rear side that she supposed was a small barn or stable.

  Liam stopped a few yards away and started to get down, but Elora grabbed his forearm.

  “You’re saying that Ram is this young prince.”

  Liam looked at her like she might be slow. “That he is. And the finest ever born should you ask me.”

  For a plump man in his fifties, Liam jumped down with remarkable ease and pulled her suitcase from the cart. Elora was still frozen in place by the shocking revelation.

  Liam held out his hand to help her. “Come down. I will help you.” He obviously hadn’t been told about her athletic gifts so she graciously took his hand before jumping to the ground.

  “If he is no’ here, I’ll build you a nice fire afore I go.” When there was no response to his knock or call, Liam let himself in through the unlocked door.

  Elora stepped inside and surveyed the interior. The cottage was basically one large room. Clean and tidy as could be. She smiled at the neatness. Everything in its place. One might even call it immaculate. She could see that the discipline they give the young trainees pays off. Next to the front door were two pairs of boots, Wellies and riding. Next to the boots was a metal sculpture of a bare limbed tree formed to serve a dual purpose as coat rack.

  One wall featured a fireplace and raised hearth. On the opposite wall was a large, carved mahogany bed with a moss green, velvet coverlet and a faux, sable blanket that looked and felt like the real thing, almost decadent in its invitation to sensuality.

  Above the bed hung a tapestry that looked very old, faded in places, threads going bare in others. The background was a tartan very similar to Black Watch but with gold threads woven into the plaid. In the center was a crest that featured a profile view of a golden lion rearing on hind legs, showing claws and fangs, juxtaposed with a lyre leaning against a banner pole at his feet. Around the emblem were the words “i lár na Cruinne”.

  She flashed on the image of Ram battling a vampire seconds before making a decision to sacrifice himself for people he didn’t know and would never meet. She saw the resemblance between his blonde hair and the lion’s mane. Accompanying that fanciful association was the thought that an electric guitar is a simply modern day lyre. True Irish royalty.

  Against the foot of the bed was a worn leather sofa the color of wine. Near the fire sat a matching chair and ottoman showing even more wear. In front of the sofa was a table fashioned from a large tree trunk, the top polished smooth and waxed with rings in irregular patterns representing nature’s own art. The floor was made of dark, wide planks - also worn to a perfection that said, “Boots have walked these floors many thousands of days.”

  At the far end of the cottage, opposite the front door, was a kitchen with an extra large wooden hutch to the right of the sink and a waist high butcher block that served as a precursor to modern day kitchen islands. There was a large copper bath tub in the left corner. It appeared to be serviced by a pump with a s
tationary arm. Next to that was another pump on a hinged arm that could swing either to the sink or the tub. Over the copper sink a small window with thick, wavy glass opened to a view of the dense forest beyond. It was winged with heavy shutters to close in the event of extreme cold or leave open to allow more light.

  Between the tub and the sink was a small fireplace, waist high, with a cast iron pot hung on a swinging arm. Underneath the stone hearth, was a two foot indention with an outside hatch at the rear, providing convenient access to restock fire wood. On the other side of the hutch, in the corner opposite the tub, there was a cabinet designed for storing perishables. It had some sort of filtered vent on the back for adjusting the temperature, cold enough to keep milk fresh, but not frozen in winter. Ingenious.

  The butcher block was picturesque enough to photograph. Strawberry and blackberry preserves in glass jars beckoned the beholder to ladle some sweet goodness on a chunk of the half loaf of uncut bread. Or to slice a bit of cheese kept fresh under a glass dome, and wash it down with a hardy, red ale from a pewter pitcher with hinged top. It was as appetizing as any feast she had ever seen. A still life ready to be painted.

  The overall impression of the hunting cottage in the woods was comfortable elegance. Rusticity and luxury do not marry easily, but this was the lair of a decidedly masculine personality who understands quality and treasures nice things even more when they began to show age and wear.

  Liam built a cheerful fire and replenished the stack of firewood by the hearth. He told Elora to make herself at home and then let himself out saying it was a pleasure to meet her.

  Through the window she watched Liam untie the gelding and lead him away. After some time he returned, boarded the cart, and drove away whistling.

  Left alone, Elora continued to stand in the middle of the cottage for a time feeling like an intruder and second guessing her decision to come unannounced. When the room grew warmer, she removed her coat along with the gloves, hat and scarf and gravitated toward the kitchen where she poured herself a little of the red ale to help drive the chill away from her bones. If it could also help with the unease she was feeling, all the better.