My Familiar Stranger

by Victoria Danann

  Alone in the cottage she walked around slowly, taking inventory of what was precious enough to Ram to keep in the place he called “home”. She read titles of books, then picked up the acoustic guitar and smiled to see that it was in perfect tune which meant he had probably played that very morning. She had never heard him play acoustic which meant there were probably many things about him she didn’t know. Like that he’s an Irish prince.

  Only two items would qualify as artwork or pictorial features: the tapestry and a single picture on the massive mantel. It was an enlarged, framed photo of the two of them in front of the tree at Rockefeller Center snuggled close, looking happy and so right for each other.

  There was only one thing left unsnooped - a large, antique armoire that held the clothes he kept on hand. When she opened the doors, without thinking her hand immediately, impulsively, reached for a hanging sleeve and brought it to her nose. She supposed that impulse meant she had even missed his smell and thought, "What madness made me think I could make a life without him?"

  She tried to cozy up in a corner of the sofa and get comfortable. But as the day wore on, alone in the cottage that was silent except for the crackles and pops of the fire, the phrase “palace life” began looping through her mind over and over, growing in volume to match her anxiety.

  After a couple of hours had passed, the threat of being returned to a life of oppressing restriction simmered to a boil. No matter how well appointed, a locked tower is still locked. And her fear of that, even though irrational, was so consuming that it overcame both love and logic. She concluded that it was a mistake to come.

  The cup of ale was returned to the kitchen, emptied and placed in the sink. She pulled her black coat over the white cashmere sweater she had worn because she knew Ram liked seeing her in winter whites. The scarf and hat were thrown on hastily as she was heading for the door planning to follow the cart path back to the village, footwear be damned. Luggage be damned. Near panic, she had to flee and couldn’t even wait to get her gloves on.

  As she passed the window she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. She froze, took one step backward, and looked out. Across the clear running creek a fantasy come to life was emerging from the shadows on the edge of the forest. There she saw a striking blonde elf with hair pulled back behind his ears and tied at the nape of his neck, wearing a long black coat split up the back seam for ease of movement and a generous length of wool, Black Watch tartan with gold thread weave gathered around his neck and shoulders, held in place by a kilt pin with the same crest as that in the tapestry and the thick leather strap of a quiver. The long bow he carried was so beautifully curved and crafted that she could recognize its quality even from that distance.

  She knew the instant he realized that something was unexpected. The smoke coming from his chimney caused him to go statue still like a freeze frame, exactly like a wild animal does when it senses something amiss. Snow had begun coming down; huge, fluffy flakes were hanging in the air, defying the laws of physics, taking their time in falling as if enjoying the downward glide.

  After a moment he proceeded toward the cottage with purpose, jumping the stream with the grace of a dancer, then resuming the powerful, athletic stride that she would recognize anywhere. Having become unsettled by an over active imagination run amuck, she was not thinking clearly or she would have known that Ram would not simply let her say hello and dash away unaccompanied.

  Just as he reached the door, she opened it. And there, on the other side of the threshold, stood an elf whose features formed harsh planes, whose face was a mask of utter stillness with eyes the image of unfathomable emptiness. He was barely recognizable. Without changing expression or taking his vacant eyes from her, he slowly set the bow on its end, leaning it against the door’s casement. Seeming to be considering whether she was real or illusion, he pulled the strap of his quiver over his head and set it next to the bow.

  After she recovered from the initial shock of seeing her Ram so changed, so unanimated, so decimated, she mustered a bright smile and effervescent tone for her greeting even if she didn’t have the authenticity of cheerful emotion to put behind it. She was offering a silent prayer to the gods, "Please don’t let me have destroyed what I most treasure."

  “Hi.” She gave a little, chest high wave with her gloved right hand.

  His head turned toward the hand she had just waved. His eyes lingered there for a few heartbeats, fixated, before returning to her face. She could tell the moment he decided she was not a hallucination. Elora was there! In the flesh. In his cottage. Come halfway round the world. And that could mean only one thing. She was his.

  The visual transformation that followed that realization was miraculous. Like the explosion of fire that follows putting a match to a pilot light when a surplus of gas has first escaped, the flame leaped back into his eyes. His face regained its familiar fluidity as it spread into a smile that was half proprietary and half predatory.

  Elora’s heart kept time with the transformation as she watched Ram’s true essence reclaim his body, settle in and take up residence. Not too late.

  As he advanced slowly, he backed her into the cabin and shut the door behind him never taking his eyes away from her face. His natural scent of musk and wild tree fern filled the space between them. She had forgotten that it could be sensually overpowering when encountered in person, easily causing someone such as herself to forget everything else.

  “Um, nice place.” Suddenly nervous, she was talking faster than usual. “I just dropped by to say Happy Holidays and was on my way out. Liam brought me. Very nice man. Talks a lot. We came in a cart drawn by the biggest horse I ever saw. He built the fire and brought in more wood.” She gestured toward the hearth. “I had some of your ale to help warm up after the ride through the woods.. I hope you don’t mind. It was very good.”

  While she was talking, he pulled the knit hat away and ran his hand slowly over her head wondering how he could have already forgotten just what a marvel was the color of that hair. He was thinking she looked bewitching in the winter whites they had bought on their day in New York.

  “Where are you going in such a hurry?” he said with a wolfish smile and a quiet tone that dripped honey.

  “I, ah, want to be back in the village before dark. Great to see you. Gotta go.”

  He was slowly unwinding the scarf from around her neck and blocking her path to the door. “There’s plenty of time and you’ve come such a very long way. Why do you no’ stay for tea? And tell me the true reason for your visit? After that I will take you to the village if you still want to go.”

  He had started undoing the buttons on her coat, deliberately allowing the backs of his fingers to leisurely brush the cleavage beneath. She shivered in response to his touch and the look of pure masculine smugness he was wearing; the look some men get when they’re certain they’re about to enjoy a memorable coupling. “And did I mention how very glad I am to see you?”

  He pushed her coat back from her shoulders and draped it over a bare limb of the sculptured tree, coat rack that stood by the door. He was staring at her partially bare clavicle as he reached up and took the prim collar of her white, Angora sweater to rub gently between his fingers. “Soft,” he said raising his eyes to lock with hers in unmistakable sexual innuendo.

  She felt her breath becoming shallow and her resolve unraveling. Maybe she could stand being locked in a tower if it was with this elf. She gave herself a sound inward shake and forced herself to sound unaffected.

  “I can’t stay for tea unless you make tea, Rammel.”

  He dropped his hand resuming his wolfish smile, and started removing his own outerwear. When he was done, he was left in boots, black sileather pants, and a soft, teal blue, knit pullover that did dazzling things to the color of his eyes in that light. He poked the fire making room to add a log, turned to make sure she was still there, and went to the kitchen to make tea. He noticed Elora was standing exactly where he left her by the door, no
w having gone from uncharacteristically chatty to uncharacteristically quiet.

  Doing his best to disarm her, he motioned to the couch, “Sit down. Please. Tea standin’ up is no’ nearly as good.”

  She looked at the couch like it was a trap. In her mind, deciding where and how to sit became an equation to be solved.

  “How long have you been here?”

  “I don’t know. Couple of hours?” she said absently, still studying the couch like a puzzle.

  Ram pumped water into a tea kettle and brought it to the hearth where he hung it on a large iron hinge which swung to suspend over the open flames.

  “How was the trip?”

  “It was… liberating, the first time I’ve traveled without people I know. It made me feel… free. Independent. Even though the details were skillfully worked out by Ms. Farnsworth.”

  He saw that Elora was still trying to decide where to sit. “Are you cold?”

  When she looked up and saw his expectant expression she felt butterflies stirring in her stomach all over again and scolded herself for behaving like a timid schoolgirl. She silently repeated the mantra, "I am a fearless knight of The Order of The Black Swan. Even if I am on probation." She shook her head no and smiled.

  Ram returned to the kitchen to assemble a tea service.

  Every second he was gone amplified her anxiety. She forced herself to sit and decided to calm herself with conversation.

  “So, partner, in all the time we spent together, you never got around to telling me you’re a royal? A prince even? Liam was worried about having ‘spoke out of turn’.”

  Ram had his back to her, but the question made his head come up and he momentarily froze in place before returning to the task of assembling tea.

  “As far as I’m concerned, I’m Sir Hawking, no’ Prince Hawking. I’ve earned my knighthood a dozen times over. I did nothin’ to become a prince except have the dubious fortune to be born royal. I never wanted people I work with to think of me as different, probably for the same reason you do no’ like it when Storm calls you Princess.”

  “How did you know I don’t like it? I never said.”

  He looked over his shoulder and smiled. “Tis my job to pay attention to you, Elora.”

  “Do Storm and Kay know? About your, uh, family?”

  “Aye. We spend a lot of time together. There’s little we do no’ know about each other.” After a short pause he added, “Probably.”

  He hastily finished putting cups, cream, sugar, and spoons on an old, wood tray in need of refinishing and carried them back to the main room. Setting the tray on the tree stump table, he had no trouble deciding where to sit. Elora had finally chosen a perch at the end of the sofa nearest the door. He pulled the ottoman over and sat facing her, close enough that his knees were almost touching hers.

  “The water will be hot in a minute or so.”

  She looked at the kettle hanging above the fire. Something about the proximity and calm confidence of Ram’s voice suddenly caused a sense of peace to wash over Elora, a feeling that everything about the moment was right; the utter quiet of a cold, gray, snowy day in a land without noise, the serenity of an ancient cottage with a happy fire in the middle of a medieval forest, and the sweet, sweet intimacy of having Rammel Hawking there, all to herself.

  How strange it was to be in a place she’d never seen before and feel so at home. That’s when she realized it wasn’t the place that made her feel like she’d come home. It was the elf. How she had missed him!

  At some point during her reverie he had moved closer and lightly rested his hands on her knees. One thumb was absently drawing little circles on the inside of her lower thigh as he studied her face. He always left her alone when he saw her eyes glaze over and knew she was away on some private, inner journey where she sorted things out. She was so caught up in her own thoughts that she jumped when the tea kettle began to whistle. To be fair, it was as loud as a train. Ram laughed in that open, unguarded way she loved.

  “Welcome back,” he teased as he rose to fetch the kettle. He named the various kinds of tea he had on hand adding that he had also stocked a very fine hot chocolate just in case she should be there someday.

  “Yes, indeed,” she smiled. “I would like some of your very fine, hot chocolate, Sir Hawking.”

  “Your wish is my pleasure, Lady Laiken,” he said as he carefully poured hot water over her chocolate and stirred before handing her the cup. “I also have biscuits.” He motioned to the plate of baked goodies.

  “Those are cookies.”

  “No’ here. Here, they are biscuits.”

  He began to steep some Irish Breakfast Tea for himself, then turned toward her again, “And now you will tell me the details of how my good fortune has blessed me with the privilege of servin’ you chocolate on this fine winter day.”

  She took a sip of liquid bliss then returned her cup and saucer to the tray.

  “I was actually on the tarmac, ready to leave with Storm. The jet had landed and was taxiing.” He grew solemn, but nodded encouragement for her to continue. “He kissed me. For the first time.”

  She noticed Ram’s shoulders tense and his fingers curled under even though his expression remained the same. “And what happened was strange. I have no explanation and probably never will. It gave me a jolt - like an electrical jolt - that felt real and physically painful. In the space of a couple of seconds I saw this parade of images, all memories of you, including the night we, um, found out that aphrodisiacs are not a myth.”

  Ram worked at keeping his face blank. He was too interested in hearing the rest of this to interrupt.

  She let out a big sigh. “I couldn’t go with Storm. You were right. It wouldn’t be fair to him because I don’t know how to be happy without you.” Looking at Ram she was momentarily mesmerized by the illumination of his face by firelight and the way he searched her eyes. “And it wouldn’t be fair to you because...”

  In one motion he rose, pulling her up with him, took her in his arms and held on like the salvation she was. As he leaned forward to crush a kiss to her mouth, she arched her body toward his, holding back nothing and nothing had ever felt so natural, like such a perfect fit. It was as if they had been cast in a mold as a pair, then separated, and were now reunited. Suddenly she broke the kiss and pulled away.

  “There’s a reason why I was leaving, Ram, why I was going to be gone before you got back. Because I can’t do palace life. No matter how I feel about you, I can never go back to that. It swallows me up. It smothers me. And it’s possible you could be king someday.”

  “Elora,” Ram gently pulled her back against him, “you must have faith that we’re well matched. I’ll no’ ask you to do anythin’ you do no’ want. Ever. If you ne’er want to set foot in my brother’s house, then we will no’. If circumstances put kingship in my path and you asked me to pass on the crown, I’d be glad for it.”

  Elora tilted her head to the side. “You have that choice?” She studied his face. “Liam told me you used to run away.”

  “Aye. Understand this. The only person who can force me to do anythin’ is you.”

  “Really?”

  He thought perhaps she sounded a bit too intrigued by the possibilities. But no matter. There was nothing he would deny her.

  As she stepped back into the haven of his body, he enveloped her in arms. It made her feel sexy and beautiful, but, oddly, even though she knew she was physically stronger, it made her feel safe and protected. She buried her face in his neck where she could drag in even more of his erotic smell.

  He chuckled in response. “So you will no’ be needin’ a ride to the town then.”

  It was not a question, but she raised her face and opened her mouth to reply. Whatever she intended to say was muffled by a kiss ever so much more potent than memory had served. As her tongue tangled with his and her breath came faster, she purred sounds of approval followed by a gasp as a warm hand reached beneath her sweater to cover a breast and run a th
umb over one of the taut nipples that was begging to be touched.

  She drew back. “Just a minute.” She leaned away and bent to retrieve her backpack, fumbled around inside for a minute, then, with a flourish, she triumphantly withdrew three long strips, each containing a dozen condoms of neon yellow, orange, and pink. She waved them in the air. “Heart Throbs. Guaranteed feminine satisfaction.” She seemed so pleased with herself.

  Ram first looked confused, then offended. “And you do no’ think I can guarantee feminine satisfaction?”

  She laughed. “I know you can, but we need protection. I mean, I guess we got lucky last time, but…” Ram looked down at the ridiculously colorful circles trailing from her hand, indulged in a moment of pride when he noticed that she had bought extra large. She does remember that night. Then the gravity of the situation returned and he let out a big sigh.

  She looked deflated. “What is it, Ram?”

  “Elves and humans mate rarely. When they do, there is no procreation.”

  She searched his face. “We won’t have children?”

  He solemnly shook his head no. Elora’s knees felt a little slushy. Sinking down on the couch, she hadn’t realized she really wanted children until she was told there wouldn’t be any. Ram sat on the ottoman in front of her as she did a replay in her head.

  “So that’s why you said having children wasn’t important.”

  His brows drew together for a moment as he looked away trying to place the reference. Then he remembered.

  “Our day in Manhattan. Aye. I said 'tis no’ important. And I meant it.”

  “You’re not disappointed?”

  “Disappointed! My darlin’ girl, I’m the farthest thing from that. I consider myself to be the luckiest elf in the world.” She reached out with her intuition and knew he was telling the truth. He took her hand in his, raised her knuckles to his lips and kissed them. “Besides, there are little ones who are left alone in the world through no fault of their own. We could be their mum and da. Make them ours.”