And it was more than my opinion that boys Skylar’s age were too young to begin serious training with weapons, something else I explained to Frey before.
So, since he repeated himself, I did too.
“He’s eleven and he’s still vulnerable, Frey,” I whispered. “Annar and I have been working with him and he still freaks out when he messes up. He gets so tense at the slightest mistake it takes days to calm him down.”
“This will pass, Finnie,” Frey whispered back.
“But –”
His arms squeezing me gently cut me off then his voice sounded in my ear. “This will pass, wee one, and the only way to get it to pass is to work him through it.”
I pulled in a deep breath. Then I let it out.
This made sense too, damn it all to hell.
So I gave in (again) by whispering, “Okay.”
I felt Frey’s lips touch light on my neck and then in my ear I heard, “Okay.”
I relaxed into his big, powerful frame and ran my hands along his arms until my fingers linked through his and I watched Bellebryn become tiny as The Finnie gained distance.
Then I remarked, “I’m glad to be aboard again. It means I get your beard back.”
I felt Frey’s body start behind mine and the amusement in his voice when he asked, “What?”
I kept my eyes on the distance when I repeated, “I get your beard back. I haven’t decided if I think you’re more handsome with the beard or without it. I’m glad I get it back so I’ll have another opportunity to try and figure it out.”
This was true but it was also a lie because I was never going to figure it out.
This got me another squeeze and a short, low chuckle then, “Anytime you want it back, my Finnie, you only need say. Shaving is a pain in the arse and I’m pleased to give it a rest.”
“All righty then,” I agreed. “I’ll give you a head’s up when I’m in the mood for whiskers.”
“My thanks,” he muttered, voice still amused but something weighed on it, I could hear it, I could even feel it.
I just didn’t know what it was.
Except I knew what it was for me.
The last two months had been perfect, sailing south over the emerald waters of the Green Sea, the days becoming warmer and longer, feeling the sun shining on my skin, experiencing the fairytale beauty of Bellebryn and the breathtaking fantasyland that was Hawkvale, making new friends, eating new foods, working with Skylar and seeing progress as his tension ebbed and his personality began to flow.
Not to mention, I’d gotten my first bulls-eye.
And all of this happened with my gentle, quick to smile, quick to laugh, handsome husband who I knew enjoyed, just like me, the heat of the sun, the longer days, the food, the vistas, the people and being with me.
And he made no bones about that.
As ever, he was often at his own tasks but these were few when he didn’t have me close. And as our days slid by and with it our time, nothing had cooled, nothing had faded, in fact, everything, including the time we spent alone and naked, heated, grew brighter, more intense.
All this, I told myself, meant Frey had to love me.
He had to.
He just hadn’t told me.
And therefore I hadn’t told him.
And, considering we were again at sea, we were again on the move, we were off to face whatever was next and that weight still pulled at his tone, I wondered if it was because he was waiting for me to say it so he could.
He was a virile, hot, action guy and although he never shied away from demonstrations of affection, both physical and verbal, maybe declaring his deep, abiding (for mine was both so his had to be too) love was a shade too far and he needed me to assure him that these feelings were mutual.
But I was nervous at the thought of putting that out there even though Frey gave me not one, single indication I should be.
Still, I was.
But I shouldn’t be.
Nevertheless, I was.
Shit.
Shit!
I sucked in breath and let the emerald of the sea and the green of the shore fill my vision.
Then I whispered to my husband, “We’re breaking the cardinal rule.”
“The what?”
“The cardinal rule, the most important rule there is, the one you never, ever break,” I explained.
“And what is this important rule we’re breaking, wee Finnie?” Frey asked.
I studied the vista as I answered, “Dad always said, never look back. Always look forward. Always look where you’re going; never waste time on where you’ve been. You’ve been there so you don’t have to take that time and wasting any time, even a breath, is a mistake. Memories can be shared of the good times but they need to be shared while your eyes are to the horizon, faced forward. No matter where we went, when we left, he didn’t let us look back. When I was young, he made a game of it. By the time I grew older, I did it out of habit, never looking back, not even a glance.” I pulled in a soft breath and finished, “And now we’re looking back. Dad would be disappointed.”
I barely stopped speaking before Frey moved me from the railing, turned me toward the helm and I heard him say low, “Thad.”
Thad was at the huge, wooden wheel. He looked over his shoulder at Frey, lifted his chin then looked to me and grinned. I grinned back, he moved away and Frey moved in, positioning me so I was standing with my back leaned into him then his hands were at the wheel and the blue of the cloudless sky meeting the brilliant emerald of the Green Sea with the lushly greened islands rising out of the water The Finnie was flowing passed were all I could see.
Then Frey’s mouth came to my ear. “Better, my wee Finnie?”
I pressed my lips together as my throat clogged because Frey had again, without word, without hesitation, given me exactly what I needed and, receiving it yet again at long last, I made an enormous decision.
I was going to tell my husband I loved him.
I swallowed the lump in my throat, relaxed into him and whispered, “Better, my handsome husband.”
Frey’s head moved so his lips could touch the hair at the side of mine then it was gone but he wasn’t.
As always, his large, strong frame supported my small one.
And together we stared straight ahead at our future.
* * * * *
“Finnie,” Frey called, his voice thick and I tried to focus on him.
I was on my back on his divan in his cabin, my hands moving feverishly over his skin, my legs spread wide, Frey thrusting between them, slow, gentle, his hips on a slight slant, my hips slanted with them. He was on a forearm in the mattress beside me; his other hand free to roam the skin of my side, belly, ribs and right then it was cupping my breast.
I was close. So damned close.
“I’m close, baby,” I breathed as my gaze locked with his.
“I know, love,” he whispered, his neck bending, his mouth touching mine, gentle, light sweet, he pulled back slightly, “Hold on, stay with me.”
I lifted my hips, he slid in deeper, that felt so fucking good I told him the truth. “I don’t know if I can.”
His hips rotated as he slowly slid out then rotated again as he slowly slid back in and I bit my lip, arched my spine and my nails trailed across the skin of his back.
“Stay with me, wee one,” he growled low, exposing he liked it too and just how much. “I want us to climax together.”
Oh God, yes.
I wanted that too. I wanted it bad.
“Okay,” I breathed and his mouth came back to mine, opened and he touched the tip of his tongue to mine as his thumb slid across my hard, oversensitive nipple and I whimpered into his mouth.
“Baby,” I whispered against his lips, that word trembling with agonized pleasure.
He glided out and glided back in. “Stay with me.”
“Frey.”
“Watch me,” he urged, “feel me. You’ll know when to let go. Wait for it, Finnie.”
My hips moved with his and the pleasure rolled through me, then again, and again.
Beautiful
Torture.
God, he needed to hurry up!
My hand slid around his chest and up to cup his jaw, my thumb moving to slide over his lower lip as he held my eyes, his heated, his hips moving, his cock stroking deep, his hand gliding along the skin of my ribs and all of it was better than anything I’d ever had, we’d ever had.
Even with adela tea.
I moved my hips with his, slid my thumb back over his lip and held his eyes as I whispered a thought that came out of my mouth straight from my heart, “God, you’re beautiful.”
At my words, Frey groaned so deep, I felt it straight up to my throat starting at my sex. He dipped his head, his thrusts going off rhythm, pounding deeper, moving faster, his big hand spanning my hip, manipulating its movements to take him, meet each stroke.
I circled his shoulders, pressed hard against him, wrapped a calf around his thigh and I felt it in his frame, in his flesh, he was there, I was there and we were going there together.
And that was when I turned my head and whispered, “I love you, Frey Drakkar.”
He buried himself to the root inside me, let go and I let go, my back arching, my neck arching, my moan deep and low. His strong teeth sunk into the flesh where my neck met my shoulder, his rumbling growl sounding through his teeth, pounding against my skin and my moan turned to a whimper as his arm wrapped around me and closed so tight, he squeezed the breath out of my lungs.
Yes, climaxing with Frey was better than anything, even the adela tea. Perfection.
As I came down I held onto him, fighting for breath but, unusually, Frey’s arm didn’t loosen.
“Frey –” I breathed.
“Say it again,” he growled against my skin, so fierce, my body trembled but his arm, so tense, stiffened further until it almost caused pain. “Say it again,” he repeated, his voice now harsh.
“I love you,” I whispered, breathless but his arm only got tighter, his cock still planted deep, his hips bucked, thrusting it deeper and my body jolted as a residual wave of heat burned through me.
“Again.” His voice was now beyond harsh, this demand was abrasive.
“Baby.”
Another squeeze, another buck of his hips and I whimpered.
“Say it, Finnie,” he grated.
I closed my eyes tight, fought for air and pushed out, “I love you, Frey. I’m in love with you. So in love, I’ll never stop loving you. Not ever. You, everything about you is beyond my wildest dreams.”
He pushed his face into my neck as his arm squeezed me even tighter for a second then it released and his hips pressed mine to the bed as he lifted up on both forearms so his big hands could frame my face on either side. His head came up and he looked down at me, face soft, beloved brown-green eyes active, stare intense.
And he did this for awhile. A long time, actually, what felt like years and he did it without speaking or moving. He just lay with his large body covering and connected to mine and he stared at me.
Um… I wasn’t certain that was good.
“Do you…” I pulled in a breath and with it courage, “uh… do you… um, feel the same… uh, I mean,” I rushed to finish, “like, not the same, the same but… um, even a little bit?” I asked.
He stared at me another second that led to two which led to three which led to four (I counted) before he asked, “Are you mad?”
I didn’t know how to take that answer.
“Um… no?” I asked back because now he was looking at me like he was convinced I was and his conviction made me question mine.
Then his face dipped close, his hands put gentle pressure on my head and he whispered, “Finnie Drakkar, I fell in love with you when you told me you had a rule about dead game on the kitchen table.”
I blinked and my body jolted with surprise.
He couldn’t…
Could he?
Seriously?
“Seriously?” I whispered.
He didn’t answer my question, instead, he stated, “No, it was before that, when I walked into the cabin to see my wife in a pink gown with a pink ribbon in her hair looking more beautiful simply stirring batter in a bowl than most women do after their maidservants spend five hours on their appearance.”
Oh my God.
Oh my God!
What man remembered pink dresses and pink ribbons? What man?
No man. None of them. None at all.
Except ones who witnessed these things while falling in love.
Oh. My. God.
“Shut up,” I whispered but I didn’t know how I did it since my throat was closing.
Frey grinned and replied, “It’s true.”
“That’s crazy.” I was still whispering.
“Indeed it is, my wee one, but it’s still true.”
Oh my God.
“I’m going to cry,” I announced, my voice trembling with the evidence that proved my statement true.
Frey’s grin became a smile and his eyes warmed. “I see that, love.”
My breath hitched and a tear slid out of the side of my eye before I demanded on a weak shove at his shoulder, “You have to quit making me cry.”
He dropped his head and slid his nose along mine as he muttered, “I’ll work on that.”
I looked at his olive green eyes close up knowing without a doubt he was so totally not going to work on that.
I held on tight and lifted my head, pressing it into his neck. He rolled, disengaging our bodies but taking me to the top where one of his arms stayed closed around me and his other hand stroked my back as I wept softly in his neck.
I didn’t cry long because I thought of something, pulled myself together, lifted up on a forearm in his chest and looked down at him.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.
“You did not know?” Frey asked back and I blinked.
“What?”
His brows drew together and he studied me. “Wee one, how could you not know?”
“I –” I started.
“It was clear as day,” he declared and I had to admit, that was true. Mostly.
“You still could have told me,” I informed him.
“Indeed,” he stated and his arm gave me a squeeze, “as you could have done. Why didn’t you tell me you cared so deeply for me?”
Shit. He knew I’d been holding back.
“Well,” I began, “it was clear as day.”
He grinned and muttered, “Right.”
“Well it was!” I snapped because, truthfully, it was and his grin turned to body rocking laughter as he rolled me again so I was on my back and he was pressed to my side looking down at me.
When he controlled his hilarity, he remarked, “Well, it is said now, thank the gods.”
“Yes,” I bit my lip and stared up at his handsome face. “It is,” I continued on a whisper. “And it’s funny because the first moment I saw you, you terrified me.” I watched a shadow pass over his face and instantly I lifted my hand to rest against his cheek and went on, “But looking at you now I cannot for the life of me understand why.” I slid my thumb along his cheekbone, pulled in a light breath and said it again, “I love you, Frey Drakkar.”
His eyes closed and his forehead dropped to rest against mine before he opened his eyes again, stared into mine and replied, “And I you, Finnie Drakkar.
I circled him with my arms and rolled into him so we were on our sides, face to face. Then I held him tight as he returned the favor.
“So much,” he murmured belatedly, “I’ll never stop loving you, my winter bride. Not ever. You, everything about you is beyond my wildest dreams.”
I closed my eyes hard as those words settled around my heart and I shoved my face in his throat and pressed my body deep, held on tighter and my strong husband absorbed my fierce embrace.
Then I smiled against his skin because at that moment, I rocketed straight up
and hit the bell with a loud clang at the bliss end of the happiness scale, embedding myself in a way I knew would be forever.
* * * * *
Valentine Rousseau’s eyes opened and she stared at the dark ceiling.
Then she slid out of bed, leaving the young, slumbering, firm, naked, male form in it.
Bending gracefully, her red-tipped fingers tagged the slip of green silk and lace off the floor. She pulled it over her head and the soft material slithered down her body.
Then she moved out of her bedroom, down the hall and to the room with the salmon-colored walls. She did not bother herself with turning on a light but glided across the room and stood at the small, round table on which the large, clear, smooth, round crystal sat on top of a bed of jade green silk.
The tips of her fingers skimmed the ball and instantly a wisp of jade smoke curled inside the crystal.
She stared at its glow through the dark and felt her mouth grow tight.
Just as she thought.
What she didn’t understand was why she cared. Cared so much it woke her.
“Annoying,” she murmured as the smoke twisted, coiled and curved. “Why are lovers so… very… obtuse?” she asked the ball, it had no answer so she went on, “Especially men.”
Valentine took in a delicate, displeased breath.
Always misunderstandings, never enough communication, expectation, pride, blind faith.
Not to mention, making life-altering decisions without even considering whose life it would be altering.
It was ridiculous.
Valentine studied the smoke, sighed and thought of Seoafin, her goddess of love.
Really, she should simply let it play out, wash her hands of it; there was nothing she could do. The magic binding Seoafin there was so strong, even Valentine couldn’t break it and, unusually, she expended some effort to find an answer to this dilemma, though, admittedly, not much. Valentine Rousseau rarely expended effort on anything someone didn’t compensate her for, except, of course, one of her toys.
She definitely expended effort on her toys.
And anyway, Seoafin Wilde meant nothing to her.
She meant nothing to her.
And yet, not once but too many times these past nearly five months, Seoafin Wilde’s adventures reached across the worlds and tugged Valentine from her slumber.
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