by Kerri Carr
It was raining that afternoon and Dana had gone into town to do the food shopping and he’d stopped for coffee. When he saw her park outside and run in, his first thought was that she’d had an accident or the that Frankie was back. Neither was true. She placed a small plastic stick in his palm and he turned it over. A little screen announced in bold writing that she was pregnant.
“We’re having a baby?”
She squealed, and he had to grasp the table as the world turned a little fuzzy. Once the news had sunk in, she told him she’d booked an appointment at the clinic while she was in town and there were a few things she would have to give up like coffee and alcohol. As she talked, he remembered that night with Frankie and wondered if the baby was his. He decided it didn’t matter, she was his wife, and he still hadn’t mustered up an ounce of jealousy where Frankie was concerned. Frankie was theirs, their special friend and if the baby was his, then it was theirs.
They began to plan for the baby and Lee took on the heavy jobs around the farm. Dana’s plants were beginning to shoot and they would be eating home-grown organic food in just a few weeks. As Dana’s bump began to show they both wondered when Frankie would be back. They had looked for his home of course, but there was no dwelling at the end of the lane, just trees and the brook that Frankie had taken him too on that afternoon.
****
“Lee, come quickly,” Dana said bursting into his office.
He ran after her wishing she would slow down but when he saw the large form limping across the field, he overtook her. Frankie was beaten and battered and close to collapse when he reached him. Something awful had happened to him and he had found his way across the countryside to their farm.
Lee supported him and half carried him back to the house with Dana. Frankie had cuts, bruises and terrible grazes on his body and his clothes were shredded. His usual tanned coloring was covered with blood and dirt, but Lee could tell he was a sickly pale tone underneath.
They moved him to the bed and Dana cleaned his wounds while Lee gave him sips of water. He fell into an uncomfortable sleep leaving them to wonder what on earth had happened. They took turns to care for him for the next couple of days, bathing his wounds and feeding him soup but he remained silent and barely conscious most of the time.
When he finally woke up, they were both exhausted. Dana was sleeping on the sofa while Lee was sitting on the other side of the bed reading a book. He felt Frankie stir and his hand reached out and rested on Lee’s knee. Lee was about to call Dana but Frankie put his hand to his bruised lips and Lee took the hint.
“I can only heal by drinking the water from the brook,” Frankie said and his voice was raspy and more of a whisper.
“You want me to get water from the brook, are you sure?” Lee asked.
“If you can do that for me I promise I will tell you everything but only you,” Frankie said his voice still barely there. “Dana doesn’t need to know right now.”
“Okay,” Lee said.
He took a bottle and ran down the hill and across the rocks thankful that he’d put boots on this time. When he got to the large rock where he’d first kissed Frankie, he wondered if the man had brought him down there that day to tell him something but the kiss had distracted them. He filled the bottle and made his way back, creeping into the house to avoid waking Dana who needed more sleep now the child within her was growing.
He helped Frankie to drink the entire contents of the bottle and was amazed at how quickly his abrasions began to heal. He’d never seen anything like it and somewhere deep down he knew that Frankie was different. He’d always known. Frankie sat up and reached for his hand silencing his thoughts.
“I’m not like you,” he said. “I come from a long line of beings who are not human but used to live side by side with humans. We are called fairies and we are dying out. We need to interact with humans to survive and we need to breed with them to keep our species going. The world is not kind to my species and there are plenty of those who wish to destroy us.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Lee said gaping like a fish but unable to stop himself.
“I was caught and held but I escaped and I managed to come back here but I didn’t have the strength to reach the brook,” Frankie said looking healthier and less pained.
“Why can’t Dana know?”
“She is carrying my child,” Frankie said placing his hand over Lee’s.
“I know,” Lee replied because he had been sure that the other man’s sperm trumped his in the race.
“I don’t want her to be frightened, the child may be very human like her or more like me,” Frankie said. “Either way, you will make fantastic parents for my offspring and their abilities will help you as will mine.”
“You really were my muse,” Lee said. “I knew something was different about you, I just didn’t understand what it was.”
*****
All throughout her pregnancy Frankie had been coming and going. She knew he didn’t live at the end of the lane and she knew he didn’t have a car. When he arrived, he always seemed to appear from the tree line or he just arrived in the middle of the night and they would find him in their bed in the morning. He’d persuaded her to drink the water from the little brook because of the nutrients it contained and she had to admit she’d had a healthy pregnancy.
She knew that morning that she was in labor, but Frankie had insisted on being at the birth and he wasn’t around which meant that she was keeping her legs closed and the baby inside. She fed the hens and the goats who were also heavy with babies of their own and then went to check on the crops. From that vantage point, she could see most of the way to the brook and the row of trees where Frankie always seemed to appear from. There was no sight of him.
Another pain enveloped her and she buckled slightly under the pressure. She was breathing through it but only just and when she felt a snap inside of her she let out a yell. Water was trickling down her legs and she seemed to have lost the ability to move. She managed to walk to the old apple tree which was halfway to the house but the next pain came on so suddenly that she was stuck once more. This time, it was more intense and everything faded away leaving just her and the pain.
She couldn’t seem to get the breath to call Lee and his office being at the back of the property didn’t help. She was stuck on the gravel drive now not close enough and wracked with pain. She could barely stand and her vision had narrowed. Knowing she might faint, she sank to her knees but before she reached the gravel, she was lifted by strong arms.
“I heard your call, I’m here,” Frankie said as he took her inside.
“Good timing,” she said.
****
The baby girl was born just twenty minutes after Frankie had arrived. She was healthy, alert and had curly dark hair, just like Frankie’s. Dana didn’t say anything, both men fussed over her and the baby and they seemed to know who the biological daddy was. Dana was given plenty of water from the brook and she felt pretty good considering her labor happened so fast.
“What are we going to call her?” Lee asked.
“Laurel,” Dana said, and both men nodded their head with approval. “I thought she had better have a natural name, given that she isn’t fully human.”
“What?” both men said, and she had to laugh, men were no good at keeping secrets.
“Oh come on,” she moaned. “I didn’t miss my pill, you don’t appear to live anywhere nearby and you always pop out of the trees like a shadow. What are you and what is my daughter?”
Both men looked at each other and then back at her as she sat with her arms folded across her chest. She waited while they made eyeballs at each other obviously trying to decide what to say to her. Lee put Laurel into her cot and sat on the bed. Both men waited for the other to speak and she felt like she was back at school.
“Fairy,” Frankie said after the silence had become too uncomfortable for him.
“Fine, why didn’t you tell me before. I knew you were differen
t,” she said pulling him closer to kiss him.
“I didn’t want you to freak out,” he said.
“I didn’t,” she said leaning back against the headboard. “Well, I’m out of action but you two may as well celebrate.”
Frankie kissed her and then pulled a bottle of champagne from under the bed. Lee got three glasses and Dana had a few sips before putting it down. The men drank the champagne and then kissed while she watched sleepily. Lee’s confidence had grown in the bedroom and she had Frankie to thank for that. He stood up and slowly undressed the man, caressing his muscles as he did so, lingering to kiss the newly freed skin. Dana could watch them all day.
When her husband stripped, he did so with style and she had to laugh. Frankie wasn’t always there but when he was, it was like getting a boost of energy. Lee’s writing and editing went well, the animals on the farm became more contented, and she felt more relaxed. She would even swear to the plants growing quicker if it didn’t make her sound crazy. Their lives had become entwined with Frankie’s in a way that they could never have foreseen. Now with little Laurel it had grown complete.
When Lee had signed the deal with his publisher, he had attributed it to his family and he had included Frankie. They’d celebrated together until Dana had sent them away so she could sleep. Now she had Laurel they were intricately tied together, and she welcomed that. She curled up on the bed while her two naked men made her favorite snacks and brought her drinks. Nursing the baby might have put her out of action for a while but she still found pleasure in watching.
Lee was putty under Frankie’s magic touch and she loved the look of bliss that he wore when Frankie’s hands caressed his skin. She would never tire of watching Frankie’s sculpted body and the way the muscles rippled when he moved. He might not have been a god, but his fairy blood made him beautiful and strong just like the ancient Greek works of art. Whoever said that women were the fairer sex had never met Frankie.
“When you’re feeling stronger in a week or two would, you like to meet my friend, Klara,” Frankie said lazily stroking Lee’s thigh. “She’s in the area for a few weeks and would like to meet you all and she’s great with babies.”
“Is she like you?” Dana asked. “A horny fairy with a hot body.”
“Of course, and she wants to come around to play but no vodka this time,” Frankie said laughing.
“Game on,” Dana said.
Maybe her life wasn’t complete yet after all. There’s always room for more pleasure, she thought.
THE END
Another bonus story is on the next page.
Bonus Story 33 of 44
Kissing a Scoundrel
A woman born to a particular rank, or status, is expected to take news, no matter how dissatisfactory, with a demure nod, or perhaps a fashionable turning of the head, and nothing else. The young Lady Crawford, fully aware of what was expected, attempted to do just this, but found that her hands would not quite cooperate. Nerves had always been her undoing.
Emily was not sure that she could handle this. Between her father's sudden death and the funeral that followed, everything was changing far too quickly for her to handle. She felt a familiar frightened tickling at the back of her throat.
Her father's study was suddenly too small. A strange occurrence as she had always thought it a well-appointed room, full of life and knowledge. It had also been her private sanctum when society had been too much for her, or when the bounds of politeness strained. She had always been able to find a certain comfort in the written word; the crackling of well-loved paper, and the scent of dry ink. In this moment, however, it was an inescapable prison.
“Miss Crawford, are you quite alright?” the sound of the solicitor's voice sounded very far off.
No, no this would never do. It was exactly this sort of behavior that had seen her through three seasons without even a whisper of a marriage proposal. She cleared her throat, and swallowed the fretting.
“Forgive me, Mister Quinn, but I am afraid that I do not entirely understand.” The shake of the tea cup was barely discernible to the small gathering, but to Emily Crawford it may well have been a Chinese gong. She clutched it harder. At least no one would see the white of her knuckles through the black lace gloves.
Mister Quinn, the solicitor, was in possession of truly prodigious jowls, which were only a shade lighter than the burgundy of his waistcoat, trembled with admirably contained frustration as he carefully folded the last will and testament of the late Lord Albert Crawford.
The crackling of the paper did nothing to soften his tone when he explained, “I believe it is all very plain, Miss Crawford, very plain indeed. The properties of your father, including all of those that were part of his business, and the private residences, go in their entirety to Mister Owen Harding.”
Even hearing it a second time, it struck like a blow. Her mother, who had been much loved by her father, had passed of an infection when Emily was still in swaddling-clothes. When it became clear that Emily suffered from the same delicate constitution, and tightly strung nature as her mother, her father had seen to it that she was well taken care of. He would not have done this. He would never have left her with nothing. Emily could not bring herself to believe it.
She barely kept her voice level as she asked, “Am I to understand that this includes my family estate as well as the London residence?”
Mister Quinn barely looked up as he placed several folded papers into his satchel, a worn thing that had been tattered and stained with use. Clearly he thought the matter settled. “Were they part of your father's holdings?”
“I...well...yes,” she managed. The shaking of her teacup was louder. A few droplets crashed over the brim and puddled on the elegantly painted saucer. Her chest constricted with the all too familiar rising of her nerves. “But surely this addendum that you spoke of...”
“Miss Crawford.” He fixed her with a patronizing smile. “I realize that your father's death was most unexpected. He was, I believe, very healthy for a man of his years. And I understand that this sudden shift in your own life is hard to reconcile, but I am not sure that I can be any clearer. By the decree of these papers, you will receive a very handsome stipend for living expenses during the course of this upcoming social season, and when you are married you shall receive a generous dowry as well. However, in order to receive either of these you must do so as the addendum states...”
Yes, she remembered that part as well. It was easily the most befuddling part of her father's will. “So long as I attend the entire season under the escort of Mister Harding?”
“Yes.” His thick lips tilted into a pleased smile, humoring her understanding. “Mister Harding you will be expected to maintain Miss Crawford through this season, with the intention of finding her a suitable husband. It was impressed upon me that Lord Crawford wished to see his daughter taken care of.”
“Naturally.” It was the first thing that the other participant of this unwanted meeting had offered. In truth it was the first thing that she had heard Owen Harding say since his eulogy, which she felt had been utterly economical in nature.
“I beg your pardon?” Emily demanded, knowing that her tone whispered with the hysterics she was fighting off. She shifted the bulk of her dark gown to better see him.
Harding was not unattractive, at least in appearance. His shoulders had the slender strength of an athletic man, and his hair curled in a charming riot around a poetically sculpted face. It was his eyes, she thought, that gave him away. For all they were a perfectly acceptable shade of blue, with a starburst of green around the iris, they were most ungentlemanly in nature. It was a gleam to them, wolfish and knowing. It was not a proper look, but Mister Harding had never cared much for proper.
There wasn't anything natural about this, and they all knew it. Tea, which had grown cool, sloshed over the edges and stained her fingertips. She could only imagine how she looked. Her ivory cheeks flushed a deep pink with her own frustration and the deep brown of h
er eyes, normally her best feature, rimmed with the red of her recent tears. It was not how she would have liked appear during the moment when her entire life changed, but one did not have complete control over these sorts of things. Some, she sighed inwardly, had even less control than others.
She closed her dark eyes and counted slowly to five, picturing each number carefully behind her eyelids. When she opened them she felt more settled, if no less upset. With great care she replaced the cup, and its matching saucer, upon the table, and let her gaze land upon Mister Owen Harding, her last possible hope.
“I beg your pardon,” she repeated, her tone far steadier than it had been. “You cannot possibly agree to this.”
“Why not?” His lips curled into a bemused smile.
How could he possibly smile at a time such as this? Well, she thought, if she had been informed she was willed a prosperous business and two well-appointed homes she might well have smiled.
“Mister Harding, it is no secret that you deplore polite society.”
“True enough,” he answered without any hint of shame. Owen Harding was well known as a man of low morals, who preferred drinking halls to dinner parties and brothels to galas. He, as far as she knew, had never made any apology for his deplorable behavior. Why her father had been so fond of him, Emily would never know.
“And especially parties and social gatherings,” she continued.
“That is true as well.”
His mild tone did nothing but irk her. She shook her head hard enough to set the golden ringlets beneath her mourning veil to dancing. What little comfort that her counting session had given her was evaporating quickly. “In fact, Mister Harding, I distinctly remember you telling my father that you would rather have your eyes put out by a dozen ravenous seagulls than to spend the season in London being...oh, how exactly did you put it...paraded in front of insipid matrons for their even more insipid daughters?”