by Anne Bishop
Gathering her courage, Ari crept out of the kitchen. The table had to be cleared and the remaining food properly stored. Besides, those chores were safe and familiar. She glanced in his direction, but he was staring at the fire in the hearth and didn’t seem to notice that she was in the room. Collecting as much as she could, she carried dishes back into the kitchen. On her second trip, he said softly, “I didn’t come here to harm you.”
She looked at him, puzzled by the strain in his voice. Not trusting her own voice, she just nodded and returned to the kitchen. Setting the dishes on the work-table near the sink, she clasped her shaking hands together.
Whatever you do comes back to you . . .
Be careful what you wish for . . .
As I will it. . .
Could she, in part, be responsible for this? She hadn’t wanted to give herself to a man from Ridgeley, especially Royce. She hadn’t cast a spell to avoid that, but her thoughts and feelings had been focused on avoiding it. Could that have been enough to have drawn him to the beach last night? Having magic himself, he would be more sensitive to its call, wouldn’t he? Besides, she had made a solemn promise, and, because of who he was, when she had sworn by the Lord of the Sun and the Lady of the Moon to honor that promise, that vow had even more weight than it might have.
And he seemed so . . . alone.
That thought startled her enough to make her take care of the mundane chores around the kitchen. As she cleaned up and put the food away, she felt steadier and able to think more clearly.
He could have changed form after she gave him the fancy and demanded satisfaction last night. But he didn’t. He could have told her who he was and why he had come as soon as he crossed the threshold. But he didn’t. He had given her a name that wouldn’t frighten her, and he had given her time to talk with him and get used to his presence before he’d mentioned the beach and the fancy.
All of those things had weight. And there was one other thing: Her only experience with a man had been painful and disappointing. How different might it be with someone like Lucian? If she didn’t take the chance now, would another chance ever come? Even if it was no better than it had been with Royce, could it be any worse?
And he’s alone. I don’t know why that’s so, but he is alone. Like me.
When there was nothing left to do in the kitchen, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Have courage, Ari, and trust the Mother’s wisdom. Sometimes things are meant to be.
She approached the hearth slowly, then stood there, uncertain, until he finally looked at her.
“There’s something you need to understand, Lord,” she said, feeling her face heat. “I’ve only done this once.”
“Done what? Offered a fancy?”
“No,” she said hurriedly. “I’ve never done that before. I meant the other part.”
He looked puzzled for a moment, then his expression cleared. “Once?”
She swallowed hard and nodded.
He studied her. “And it wasn’t pleasant.”
She shook her head.
He drained his glass and set it beside the rocker. “It has to be your choice, Ari.”
“I made my choice when I offered the fancy.”
“You didn’t know who you were offering it to.”
“I keep my promises, Lord.” A witch does.
He stood up, approached her slowly. His hands framed her face. “Be sure.”
“I’m sure, Lord.”
He brushed his lips against hers. “Lucian,” he murmured.
“Lucian,” she said obediently.
She braced for a hard kiss and an invading tongue, but his mouth and hands remained gentle, producing a fluttering sensation inside her, as if she were being brushed by delicate wings. Soft. So soft.
His hands left her face and traveled down her back lightly enough she could barely feel them through the nightgown and snug.
His lips explored her face and throat. His hands slipped under the snug. More sensation, but the nightgown still made his touch elusive enough to make her crave more. She wanted to raise her arms and explore his body, but they were too heavy to lift, and she couldn’t seem to focus on anything except the journey his hands were taking over her body.
She was like wax being softened by a quiet flame.
“Come,” he said quietly, leading her into the bedroom. As they reached the door, the candle by the bed began to burn.
Lucian pulled back the bedcovers, then removed her shrug. Unable to resist the light pressure of his hands on her shoulders, she sat on the bed while he removed her slippers and socks.
“Get under the covers,” he said. “It’s cold tonight.”
Shivering a little, she obeyed. Before she was completely settled, he had shed his clothes and was stretching out beside her.
His hands circled her wrists, bringing them up beside her head.
He was warm. So wonderfully warm.
“Shouldn’t I—”
He brushed his lips against hers, silencing her. “Shh.”
Wherever he touched, she melted. By the time he coaxed her to remove her nightgown, she couldn’t raise herself up without his help.
Warm. So warm.
“Ari.”
It was so hard to open her eyes. Her body was answering his commands far better than it was answering hers.
“Ari.”
When she finally opened her eyes, his face was above hers. He studied her for a moment, then smiled. She felt him shift, felt the pressure of his legs opening hers. He filled her slowly, then seemed content to remain still while he kissed her.
It was his balls that finally changed the melting feeling into something sharper and hungry. They rested against her, brushing sensitive skin every time his muscles flexed. The weight of them where nothing had touched her before made her squirm.
“Lucian,” she moaned, trying to find some way to ease that soft torment. Her fingers clamped on his buttocks, urging him to move. “Lucian.”
His lips curved in a smile against her cheek. Then he moved, and with every stroke, he fed passion’s fire until she burned.
Lucian eased himself out of Ari’s bed. As quietly as he could, he pushed back the drapes and opened the shutters. The gray light that would soon yield to sunrise was enough to see by, so he dressed in the clothes he could find, then slipped out of the bedroom.
Drawing back the bolts, he opened the front door. The storm had long passed. Had, in fact, barely lasted through the meal, but he doubted Ari had realized that.
Where had she put the rest of his clothes? he wondered as he closed the door and moved to the back of the cottage. He studied the clean kitchen. And where had she put the rest of the food?
When a quick rummage through various cupboards didn’t yield a pot of hot tea, bowls of stew, or cheese, he opened the large wooden box sitting on the work-table and found the bread as well as the biscuits he had brought. He took a biscuit and bit into it, then made a face. For some reason, they didn’t taste as good here as they did in Tir Alainn. He rummaged a bit more in the box, hoping he’d find something more than was apparently there. Like some of those cakes Ari had brought to the beach.
He could wake her. She would want tea if she was awake, wouldn’t she? And if she was awake, she wouldn’t mind fixing something for him to eat.
He was standing outside the bedroom door when it occurred to him that he still had the custom of gifting to deal with. A satisfied lover may want something very different from a sleepy, disgruntled woman who was expected to cook breakfast. It would be wiser to settle the gift before mentioning food.
He suspected the rules regarding the fancy gave him every right to ignore the custom of gifting, but he had enjoyed Ari far more than he’d expected to, and a gift would make her more eager for his return. Because he was going to return. She was his from the full moon to the dark, and he intended to enjoy her while he could.
And he wanted breakfast.
Entering the bedroom, he sat on the bed.
She still slept, snuggled under the covers. He reached out to touch her shoulder and give her a little shake into wakefulness, but his hand kept going until it could stroke her hair.
“Mmmmff,” she said sleepily. “Did the birds tell you it was time?”
Time for what? “The birds?”
Her nods pressed her face deeper into the pillows, and he wondered if she’d slip back into a deep sleep before he could talk to her.
“Birds always know when it’s time,” Ari said after a minute of silence. “As soon as the light begins to change, you can hear the soft chirps, as if they’re encouraging the sun to rise.” With a sigh, she snuggled deeper under the covers. “Or maybe they’re encouraging you.”
“I don’t need help from the birds in order to rise,” Lucian said dryly. There was too much temptation to get back into bed and show her another kind of sunrise. But what she was saying bothered him. Surely she didn’t think . . . “You do know that I don’t really lift the sun above the horizon, don’t you? It can do that just fine by itself.”
“Oh, that’s good,” Ari mumbled. “I’d always wondered what would happen if you overslept. But the birds would wake you.”
Lucian studied her for a moment, then shook his head. Either she was too sleepy or he was too awake for this conversation to make sense.
“Ari?”
“Mmmmff.”
“It is the custom that when a man enjoys a woman’s company, he gives her a gift to show his appreciation.”
“Gift?” She frowned for a moment, then smiled. “A present?”
“Yes,” Lucian said, his patience strained. “A present.”
Ari sighed. “No one’s given me a present since my mother died.”
Lucian sat back, no longer sure what to do. He’d intended to suggest a couple of things from the Clan’s large trinket box, things that would require no effort for him to provide. He hadn’t found human women tempting enough to often yield to their enchantments, but from what other Fae males had said, those women were a bit like crows—they liked shiny objects. Since the gold, silver, and jewelry usually found its way back to a Clan trinket box, even if it wasn’t the same trinket box, there was nothing there that hadn’t been given before.
He’d known there was no one else in the cottage last night, but he’d assumed they were simply somewhere else for the day. There was so much presence in this place that it hadn’t occurred to him that she was truly alone here. Knowing that, and knowing how much a gift now would disappoint or delight, he had an obligation to give her what she asked for, no matter how greedy the request might be.
Leaning closer, he said, “What kind of present would you like?”
“I get to choose?”
“Yes, you get to choose.”
She smiled. “Sunshine.”
He stared at her. Was that a coy way of asking for a necklace of amber or citrine? Or gold? “Sunshine.”
She nodded. “I have to work in the garden today. Sunshine would be nice.” She frowned. “But not too hot.”
He brushed his lips against her cheek. “Sun that warms but doesn’t burn.” When she nodded again, he said, “What else?”
“More?” After a long pause, she said, “A dragon.”
Lucian sighed quietly. A dragon? Even if such a creature existed and he could capture one, what did she think she could do with it? “A dragon,” he said heavily.
She giggled. “A cloud dragon chasing fluffy cloud sheep.”
For the first time, he wondered how old she was. It had been obvious that she was young, but it was a woman’s body that he had enjoyed last night, not a girl’s. No matter. Since he hadn’t been the first, she was surely old enough.
He kissed her cheek again. “I have to go now, but I’ll be back tonight.”
“Tonight,” she mumbled.
Moving quietly, he left the bedroom. The saddlebags were on one of the dining chairs, but he still didn’t know where she had put the rest of his clothes—or his boots. He shrugged. He didn’t need them right now, and he’d be back tonight.
It was a man who opened the kitchen door and stepped out of the cottage. But it was a black horse that galloped toward the shining road that led to Tir Alainn.
Che-cheep che-cheep che-cheep.
The birds were celebrating the day with enthusiasm.
Too much enthusiasm, Ari thought as she turtled under the covers to avoid the light streaming in from her bedroom window.
Light?
She poked her head back out and reluctantly opened her eyes. The drapes were drawn back and the shutters were open. Two sparrows and a finch stared at her from the other side of the glass.
Che-cheep che-cheep che-cheep.
Wake up, wake up, wake up and greet the day.
“All right, all right. I’m up,” Ari grumbled, making no further effort to greet the day. It was past time to get up, but once she started the tasks of the day, last night would become last night, and she wanted to savor those feelings a little while longer and think about the delightful dream she’d had early this morning. Lucian had offered to give her a present, and she’d named a silly thing that only a Fae Lord could give.
It was all nonsense of course, just a bit of fun her mind had conjured to amuse itself while her body still slept. Because if he really had offered her a gift in exchange for sex, that would no longer make last night a joining of two people for their mutual pleasure; that would be like being bought.
Not liking where those thoughts were going, Ari rolled out of bed. After stuffing her feet into slippers, she shuffled into the main room. As she opened the drapes and shutters, the sparrows and finch followed her from window to window.
Che-cheep che-cheep che-cheep.
“Shouldn’t you be out catching worms or some other crawly thing?” Ari asked.
Che-cheep.
“Well, just stay away from my lettuce. There are plenty of other things for you to eat without eating my greens.”
Che-cheep!
Smiling, Ari shook her head, then turned to study the hearth. The fire had burned out. No matter. She could tell that the slight chill in the cottage was left over from last night and would be gone once she opened a few of the windows and the top half of the kitchen door.
As she started toward the kitchen, she saw the saddlebags still sitting on the chair where she’d left them.
She knew Lucian was gone. She would have felt his presence if he was still nearby. So why had he left the saddlebags? What had he packed his extra clothing in?
Fully awake now, she hurried down the narrow hallway off the kitchen that led to the pantry and the washroom.
She’d collected the wet clothes and hung them up when she’d gotten up to use the chamber pot. His clothes were hanging in the washroom exactly as she’d left them.
A little troubled, she opened the room’s small window to freshen the air, then went back to the kitchen to heat water for her morning tea.
The hand pump felt a bit stiff and sounded squeaky as she pumped the water to fill the kettle. Probably needed to be greased. She couldn’t remember the last time it had been done. Ari sighed. Just one more thing to struggle with and fill the day. Just one more thing her mother or grandmother had taken care of when there had been the three of them to share the work.
But she couldn’t remember either of them doing that task, so they must have asked someone. Who would a family of witches ask? Certainly no one in Ridgeley. Ahern? But he’d already fixed the door. She couldn’t ask him for more help without being able to give something in return. Neall? He was usually willing to help with small things when Baron Felston wasn’t filling his days with so many chores he barely had time to breathe. But Neall. . . There were reasons why she was reluctant to ask Neall.
After adding some wood to the coals, Ari put the kettle on the stove to heat. Opening a cupboard, she took down a cup. Her hand hovered in front of the jars beside the cups before she chose the one that contained the special blend of herbs.
She could accurately gauge her fertile days by subtle changes in her body. The day before the Summer Moon should have been the last of them, but there was no reason to take chances. Drinking a cup of tea made from these herbs for another couple of days was a sensible precaution—a precaution she’d been taking every month since her mother died. It wasn’t fear that some man might force himself on her that made her diligent about drinking the tea, although the way Royce and some of his friends had been looking at her lately made her uneasy. It was herself she feared, that she might yield to loneliness or her body’s own romantic yearnings on a day when the consequences might be more costly than a few minutes of pleasure.
There were times when she thought it would be wonderful to have a daughter to love and share the world with. There were more days, especially lately, when she was glad it was unlikely that she would ever carry a child. Her daughter would be as much of an outsider in Ridgeley as she was and would be just as unwelcome. The joy of caring for Brightwood couldn’t mask loneliness, and there were times when even the joy felt like a burden. This land was her heritage and her duty, but someone besides the daughter-who-never-would-be would have to take up the mantle once she was gone.
So it was sensible to drink the herb tea for a couple more days to ensure as much as possible that she wouldn’t conceive.
But . . . Perhaps Lucian would like a child?
Shaking her head, Ari made her tea. Leaving it on the worktable to steep, she took a pitcher of water and the kettle into the washroom, filled the basin, and took a quick sponge bath.
A child was a dangerous thought because it was appealing. But not appealing enough. Oh, Lucian had been a splendid lover and had proved beyond her hopes that not all men were like Royce. Just the thought of what his hands and mouth had done to her made her feel fluttery inside. But that didn’t mean he would welcome a child that had been created with a witch. Besides, he would be gone by the dark of the moon—or even sooner, since her courses might start before then.
“And for all you know, he could already have a wife and children,” Ari muttered as she returned to the kitchen to drink her tea. Married men weren’t supposed to accept an invitation made during the Summer Moon, but plenty of them did. Why should the Fae be any different?