Eyes closed, Nick savored Felicity’s response—her petal-soft hands curving around his temples, lips warm and gentle against the press of his. Her scent surrounded him like a comforting blanket.
He felt Lia’s heated breath on his cheek and squinted one eye to find her peering over them, entranced.
“Well, I don’t think the prince ever kisses the princess like that,” she scolded.
Chagrinned, Nick broke the kiss. Felicity ducked her head to straighten her hat.
Aislinn tugged her little sister by her elbow. “Certain kinds of kissing can cure indigestion, Lia. Now come here and help me clean the picnic mess.”
Felicity’s eyes widened. “Wait … indigestion?” She burst out laughing.
Nick joined in.
“Why’s that funny?” Lia asked, hands propped on her waist.
Smirking, Aislinn scraped crumbs into the grass before dropping the plates into the rucksacks. “When you’re older, you’ll understand.”
Lia huffed and began to fold the linen napkins. “You always say that.”
“Say what?” Aislinn’s feigned ignorance set off an argument.
Smiling at their grumblings, Nick rose to his feet and held out a hand to help his bride stand. He hugged her to him a moment longer than he should have, because he’d never before noticed how perfectly her head fit beneath his chin.
Reluctant, he turned her loose. Then holding one another’s gazes, they wrapped up the leftover food.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Dinah and Nutmeg bounded over to lick up the crumbs on the ground, hungry from their romp in the forget-me-nots.
Once the scraps were put away, Lia’s sleepy lashes widened on a plea to her aunt. “Is it time?” she asked.
Felicity looked off in the distance. One Red Kite busied itself in the branches of the oak jutting out from the cliffs, while the other flew high overhead. Nodding, Felicity handed over one of the linen napkins to Lia.
“What is that for?” Nick asked, scratching Nutmeg’s ear as the dog appeared at his side, panting.
“The Kites are building their nest,” Lia answered. “And I want a birthday wish.”
“So your wish is to watch,” Nick reasoned.
“No,” Lia said. “I have to give my wish to the fairies.”
Nick felt completely lost now. “Which fairies would that be?”
Lia rolled her eyes. “The reason the Kites are in-dangered is because the fairies have been riding them to Tir-Na-nOg and forgetting to bring them back.” Lia balled the fabric in her hand to hide it from Nutmeg’s inquisitive nose.
Nick cocked his head, tucking his hat into the rucksack with the foodstuffs. He’d read articles about how the Red Kites had been wrongly blamed for threatening game bird populations and fallen prey to poisoning by an ignorant society. They’d also lost their habitat on parts of the continent, and egg collectors made it nearly impossible for them to settle anywhere else long enough to replenish their kind. But this tale of the fairies was much more palatable for a child of seven.
He passed a sly glance to Felicity.
She lifted her eyebrows. “What? Folklore has its place. It colors the ugly parts of life just a little prettier.”
Nick grinned. Her adventurous and teasing side always fascinated him—glimpses of the innocent girl she once must’ve been. He knelt in front of Lia, helping her resituate her hat. “Why the cloth? What does it have to do with your wish?”
“The fairies fall asleep in the nests while waiting for the Kites to return,” the child answered. “They get cold up there, so high in the trees. They need blankets. If you whisper a wish into a cloth and the Kites pick it for their nest, the fairies will use it to cover up. Then your wish floats into their ears while they sleep and becomes their dream. Everyone knows, anything a fairy dreams will come true.”
“Ah.” A Shakespearean quote came to mind and he looked up at Felicity. “’When the Kite builds, look to lesser linen.’”
With a twinkle in her eye, she nodded, obviously aware of Shakespeare’s referral to the Red Kite’s reputation for scavenging cloth for their nests, being particularly fond of linen and ladies' underwear. To think he’d once thought her incapable of imagination. She’d proven him wrong yet again by weaving the bird’s trait into her tale.
“So, how are we going to deliver that square of fabric to them … up there?” Nick motioned to the cliffs.
“We simply have to place it high enough to catch their attention,” Felicity said, looping her whip over her arm. “Come along everyone.”
They trudged into the clearing toward the bog, leaving the rucksacks at the forest’s edge. Clouds gathered overhead and a chilled wind swirled around them, causing the long grasses to clasp their trousers and boots like miniature tentacles. A strange odor drifted on the air—rather like the smell of sweaty feet.
“I think the Kites have been using this pond as their foot bath,” Nick teased.
The girls snickered.
“A rare breed of orchid grows here,” Felicity said with levity in her voice. “Tis called dragon’s breath. You can see why it earned such a title.”
Nick smiled as Nutmeg and Dinah reappeared and scampered ahead. The wind’s fingers raked his hair, and he was glad he’d left his hat with the rucksacks. He didn’t have ties to hold it in place like the girls did.
The group passed Butterscotch where she’d moved ahead to munch on oat grass.
“Butterscotch!” Lia bolted toward the pony but Nick and Aislinn caught her hands.
Felicity cast them both a grateful look. “Your hobbie’s all right,” she assured her youngest niece.
“She’ll get lost!” Lia refused to take another step.
Acting on an overwhelming surge of protectiveness, Nick hoisted her up and placed her on his shoulders. He held her shins to keep her balanced and she wrapped her arms around his forehead.
Appearing relieved, Felicity trudged onward. “Bog ponies know their way around. They’ve an excellent sense of direction. In fact, now that she’s grazed these moors, she could find her way to the castle and back here again on her own.”
“What of Nutmeg and Dinah? They’re getting too close to the water,” Lia whimpered, her chin settling into Nick’s hair.
Nick squeezed her ankles gently. “They’re fine. Their instincts will keep them from falling in the bog. You, on the other hand, need to be careful.”
Soon the water came into view—a murky lake which stretched around the cliffs from one direction to the next as far as the eye could see. Miniature mossy islands bobbed up here and there, some the size of a wagon wheel, others no bigger than an anthill. They formed a maze in the water, as if a person could use them for a walkway by jumping from one to the next.
“All right.” Felicity stalled at the bog’s edge, gusts of wind causing her braid to wind and twirl along her back like a snake. She held her hat to her head and looked up at Lia. “Have you planted your wish, little goose?”
Nick set the child down. Lia opened the cloth she’d had wadded in her hand and whispered something into the wrinkled weave. Then she folded the corners together and handed it off to her aunt.
Felicity tucked it into a pocket in her trousers before the wind could catch it. She tightened her hat’s ties under her chin. “Aislinn, stay with Lia right here. Nick, would you follow me?” She held out her left hand and the overwrought sky reflected in her ring, coloring the gold a bluish-grey.
“Anywhere.” Nick clasped their fingers.
She glanced over her shoulder at him, mahogany eyes warm with tentative hope. “Step only where I do. This is a quaking bog. What might look like sturdy ground could be just a floating mat of organic matter—leaves and stems and rotting vegetation. Not all of them have gathered enough debris on their underside to become stabilized.”
Nick arched a brow. “Seems you know more about bogs than I gave you credit for.”
“Only what Jasper taught us so we could survive out here if we we
re ever lost. It isn’t that the bog is so deep. It probably would barely cover a grown man’s head. But peat is like quicksand. Jerky movements will suck you down deeper into the lake bed. If you fall in, just grab any nearby vegetation attached to solid ground and use it to pull yourself along. The best thing would be to lie flat with your arms and legs spread wide.”
“Like a water bug!” Lia injected an example.
Nick glanced at the sprite as she pointed to one of the many bugs skittering atop the water like four-pronged stars gliding on ice.
“A water bug, aye?” He winked at her then turned back to Felicity. “So how long will I be expected to stay afloat?”
“Just until I can cast the whip out to you.”
“Hmm. I might prefer to drown. I’ve been on the wrong end of that whip before.”
Shaking her head, Felicity grinned and tapped her boot’s tip against a patch of mossy terrain, checking it for soundness. “This one’s good.”
He moved behind her as she picked their way gingerly to the middle, avoiding the smallest mossy islands. The water rippled each time they stepped from one to the next.
They settled, just short of crossing to a mound built higher than the others. Though it appeared to have more soil on the surface, it wasn’t wide enough to support them due to the tall, skinny fir tree growing from its midst. When Felicity stretched out her leg to tap the mound with her toe, the tree swayed, attesting to the precariousness of the floating mat.
“Perfect.” Drawing in her foot, Felicity released Nick’s hand and slid the whip from her shoulder. She uncoiled it. “Stand back a bit.”
He did as she asked and she snapped her elbow and wrist, sending the whip’s tail to the top of the tree where it tangled around the uppermost spike. Giving the cord’s handle a tug to secure the knot around the needles, she cast a smug glance to Nick.
He smirked. “Well done. What now?”
“I need you to anchor me.”
He eased his arms around her waist and locked his hands over her abdomen, pressing their bodies together. “Like this?” he murmured against her neck. His strong thighs tensed against her hips.
Shivering at the feel of his hot breath on her nape, Felicity froze.
She didn’t know what had changed since their argument in the dining hall this morn. But whatever it was, his tender attentions left her feeling even guiltier than she already did.
She turned her head so her cheek touched his whiskered chin. “I didn’t hide the laudanum,” she said softly. “Please, never doubt my faith in you. And don’t be angry with me anymore.”
Nick’s warm, soft lips glided along her nape. “You’ve made it impossible to stay angry. You gave me an entire field of mouse’s ears. And truthfully, I wasn’t innocent in the exchange. I said some things I regret. So, we should share the flowers.” His nose rooted around the base of her braid beneath her hat’s brim. The contact released a rush of sensation along Felicity’s spine which radiated through her womb—a shadow of that racy, placated euphoria she’d experienced last night beneath his deft fingers.
Her legs weakened upon the memory. He tightened his embrace and held her up, his hands pleasurably kneading her abdomen.
“Nick.” She gulped, trying to maintain her footing. “We have an audience.”
“Who can only see my back. Remember, we’re to practice being affectionate today.” He pressed a kiss to her neck, balmy and teasing.
“You’re already adept enough,” she grumbled.
“What’s taking so long?” Lia shouted from the banks. “It’s going to rain soon!”
Nick laughed against Felicity’s titillated skin.
Determined to evade his melting effect on her bones, Felicity started to pull on the whip. The wind kicked up, working against her efforts. The trunk only bent a little. Her joints and sinews strained as she tried to yank harder, arms stretched to their limits.
Abandoning his ministrations on her neck, Nick kept one arm around her and flung out the other to help her tug on the whip. His warm hand covered hers and his stance widened, giving them leverage. As the pressure increased and the leather cord grew taut, the tree slanted and the entire mat tilted, exposing where the fir’s roots hung beneath, dripping with water as they lifted partially out of the bog.
Nick whistled. “Would you look at that?”
The girls shouted from the margin, cheering them on just as the rain started. The downpour pelted Felicity’s face, soaked her clothes, and dimpled the water.
Blinking her eyes to shake the wetness from her lashes, she pushed down her hat’s brim and snagged some branches to draw the tree’s tip closer. Nick reached around her with both hands and held the tree so she could tie the cloth in place. Satisfied, she unwound her whip and released the fir.
With a swish, the mat righted itself in the bog and the tree once more stood vertical with the linen waving like a flag high against the drenched sky.
“You’ve given the sprite a wonderful birthday memory,” Nick said in her ear.
Turning into his arms, she lifted to her toes so he could hear her over the spattering droplets. His wet clothes clung to his muscles as he held her steady.
“My birthday memory can’t compare to the one you’re giving her,” she assured him. Thick locks of wet hair plastered his forehead. She pushed them aside and watched the rain glide along his handsome features, wanting to kiss him—to taste the rain on his lips.
“You mean the pony?” he asked.
“I mean your promise.”
He wrinkled his brow. “The phonograph?”
“If I remember correctly, you only specified music.”
His lips parted on another question, but Felicity silenced him by patting his wet cheek. “Time to get the girls home. We have a gala to attend.”
Chapter Thirty
They arrived at the castle soaked to the bone.
Nick’s cold clothes stuck to his skin and water dripped from his hems making small puddles on the floor, but he wasn’t ready to wash up. He needed to take advantage of the solitude and explore the turret stairway before his bride returned. She had escorted the girls to Aislinn’s room so Binata could draw them a joint bath.
A grayish eclipse dimmed the second story corridor. The windows on both ends provided light throughout the day when the sconces weren’t lit, but with clouds crowding out the sun and sheets of water coating the panes, illumination waned.
The rhythmic downpour pinged against the glass and drowned out Nick’s footsteps as he ventured to the turret stairs. Upon arrival, he noticed not only two new sets of prints in the dust, but a streak about elbow-high where paint had peeled off the wall along the stairway’s arched entrance. Rubbing his fingertip across the mark, he pondered the scrape he’d heard the night before, the silhouettes he thought he’d imagined.
Resigned to solve this once and for all, he started up. He’d taken only two steps when someone grabbed his shirt from behind.
He knew who it was by her touch.
Without turning, he peered into the obscured heights. “I understand Jasper asked to have the upmost stairs leveled upon his death,” he said. “You left his phonograph on the rubble last night, an offering in hopes to settle his spirit. You’ve seen him, haven’t you?”
“You’re still seeking a way to Mina.”
Responding to the vulnerable catch in Felicity’s voice, Nick turned and stepped down. His eyes drank her in—the silvery-blonde hair, released from the braids and tumbling in damp waves to her waist. Exquisite. Her features came next, the fake creases softer in the graying dimness, thick lashes harboring those soulful, dark eyes so full of tragedy and emotion they spilled into his soul. Then her body, wet clothes binding every curve, nipples budded and beckoning beneath her blouse where they peeked out from winding strands of hair.
“Why would I be seeking anyone but you?” He moved toward her, catching her wrist when she tried to back up. “My nurturing, adventuresome, bard of a wife. That tale you told Lia
of the Kites was incredible. And how you picked us a path through the bog to that tree. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“You drank too much whiskey from your flask earlier,” she countered with a tentative smirk. “You’re waxing poetic.”
He grinned. “Oh no. I’m painfully sober. You want poetic? I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you on the way home. Watching the rain glimmer on your hair and face … listening to your laugh as you ran through puddles with the girls. You, Felicity, are a princess and a seductress, all within one perfect form.”
A fawnlike winsomeness passed over her face—shifting to an expression of genuine surprise. Nick’s chest tightened, to think of how few pretty words she’d heard throughout her life. A sad fact he planned to amend each day from now on.
Glancing over her head to assure they were alone in the corridor, he stretched out a finger to stroke her nipple, his body reacting when it puckered even tighter beneath the chilled cloth. His tongue swelled in his mouth, envying his finger’s touch. “You’re a dream,” he whispered.
Her breath caught and she molded his palm over her fullness. “I’m real. And alive.”
His blood simmered. “Show me.”
He backed her toward her chamber until they were both inside then shut the door with his heel, pressing her against the wall. Her paleness stood out against the red paint as if she were a drop of cream in a flute filled with wine. Light from the fireplace cast a flickering glow upon her face. Her scent mingled with the burning wood—nectarous and roasted—like a flower field scorched to flame.
He trailed kisses from her forehead to her jaw, cupping her breasts in his palms, unable to resist her softness any longer. She gasped, a rush of warm air against his neck. Her loosened hair clumped between his fingers, impeding the contact and intensifying his lust. “Let me pleasure you again.”
With a delightful purr, she lifted to her toes, drew his head down, and kissed him—passionately, deeply—tongue seeking and hot. Just like he’d wanted to kiss her on the hike. It was their audience that had reined him in.
The Glass Butterfly Page 31