Lucky Between the Sheets: An Anthology of Stories that Get to the Point

by L. A. Boruff

  “Maebh?” He slid a long pale finger under my chin and tilted my head. My gaze went to his, and I was struck by his concern.

  “They believe my father’s rainbows are because of me. But they’re not. It’s his hard work that has brought his rainbows.”

  “I don’t understand?”

  The distant sound of a trumpet caught my attention. “I have to go.”

  “Wait!” He caught my elbow again and shivers raced through me at the feel of his fingers on my bare skin. “I shall accompany you. I am heading to your father anyway.”

  “Thank you.” I didn’t know what else to say. What else was there to say? My thoughts had turned away from my affliction and towards my father, where they should have remained.

  We didn’t speak as we made our way quickly through the trees until the familiar shape of our cottage came into view. It was larger than the average lepling home, purely because of me. But it was still quaint, and I loved it dearly.

  “Wait here,” he told me and before I could speak, he was scaling a tree as if it was a set of steps. I’ve never seen a tree climbed more easily except for when I would watch the squirrels at play.

  He disappeared, and I went onto tiptoes to try and see more of my home and, hopefully, my father.

  “It’s all clear.” He dropped to his feet beside me.

  I clutched at my rapidly beating heart. His sudden quiet appearance had startled me. Smirking at me, he indicated with his head for me to follow him.

  We made our way to the back door, but as I approached my heart leapt for far graver reasons. The door was broken and hanging off one hinge. The lights were on, but there were no sounds coming from within. I stumbled forward, but my arms were once more gripped, and I was hauled back against Jack’s firm chest.

  “Do not rush in.”

  “He could be hurt.”

  “It could be a trap.” He moved his arms around my waist. “Stay here.”

  “No, I’m going in.” I refused to be left out here with no idea what was happening.

  He made a tutting noise. “Okay, but you must stay behind me. I can’t protect you if you’re in front of me.”

  His words put paid to any more protests I had lined up. He wanted to protect me, and with his arms around my waist, the reactions I thought had gone returned with reinforcement.

  He let go of me, and I swayed at the loss of his arms. Whatever this affliction was it was not good, and it was diverting my mind from the important thing: my father’s safety. I would need to cover my mouth, so whatever it was couldn’t get into me any longer. I dragged out my kerchief and tied it around my lower face.

  His eyebrows went up, a trace of humour in his eyes. “If you’re hoping to disguise yourself, I don’t think it’s working.”

  “No. I’m allergic.”

  He merely looked puzzled before shrugging his shoulders. He crouched and began to creep his way along the ground towards the cottage, and I copied him. It was hard going in a dress and holding the wicker basket. So, I abandoned my basket at the forest edge and lifted my skirts up, tugging them into my belt. He looked back over his shoulder at me and lost his balance, almost smashing his face into the ground.

  “Are you okay?” I crept towards him, no longer hindered and able to move freely.

  “That depends,” he muttered, going back into a crouch. “Stay behind me, for icicle’s sake.”

  When we reached, the threshold he held his fingers to his lips and then put his palm up to stop me from following him. I was disgruntled at that but agreed. He disappeared through the broken door, and I remained hidden behind the garden shed that held our gardening tools. It wasn’t long before he appeared in the door standing to his full height with a grave look on his pale face.

  My heart sank, and I was on my feet, rushing through the door, calling for my father.

  There was no reply, and when I turned back to Jack in the kitchen, I was confused and scared.

  He held out his hand to me, and I stepped forward accepting the comfort he offered. Allergies be damned, I was lost with no idea what to do, or how I could solve this.

  He pulled me into his arms, and I went willingly. It had been a long time since I’d been completely embraced and held this way. Not that my father wouldn’t have hugged me, and a few times when I’d been upset over something silly, he’d climb on a chair to give me a hug. But even with Jack being taller than me it still felt different. Here was the comfort I needed, but there was something else that seemed to stir my allergies. I was aware of Jack in a way I’d never been aware of my father or the other customers that bought his shoes.

  “Maebh. Wait a minute.” He went into the parlour, and I followed him.

  A white sheet of paper had been attached to our front door, a dagger holding it in place. Jack didn’t remove the dagger but drew the paper down in one swift movement. The clean cut made it easier for the edges to meet and the words were clear as I read them aloud.

  “By order of his royal highness, King Ludwhomp III, Defender of the Isle, Regent of the Realm, Emperor of the—”

  “I think we get who he is,” Jack interrupted me. “Garbhan is under arrest, awaiting the penalty of death for brighter rainbows.” He scrunched up his nose, looking at me. “Is this a joke?”

  “No one is allowed a brighter rainbow than the king,” I mumbled. My vision had misted as tears slid down my cheeks.

  “There’s a proviso. He will be given a full pardon if you agree to the king’s proposition. You have ten days to appear before the King and accept.” He crumpled the paper into a ball and threw it into the fireplace. A cold chill permeated the room, and his spiky hair grew rigid as icicles formed around the strands

  “This is ridiculous!” he snapped, his tone as cold as the air around him. He was furious and turning my house into an igloo.

  “Jack. Please. Calm down. I was selfish before. I should never have run. I’ll start out for the kings’ court this night. I can manage seven years.”

  “What? No. No!” He turned to me, gripping my shoulders.

  A gasp left my lips at the freeze that spread from his touch down.

  He let go of me instantly and began to pace the room. “I need to calm down before I can touch you.”

  “Jack, really—”

  “No. Sit down, tell me all about these rainbows. We’ll work something out. Your father will not be killed in ten days or ever, I promise you.”

  I had no such hope but told him as much as I knew.

  * * *

  Jack was stretched out in the chair that my father kept for customers larger than himself. He looked casual, relaxed with one ankle resting on the knee of his other leg. One elbow was propped on the arm of the chair while the other hand was twirling crystal patterns in the air as he listened to me. I’d told him all I knew, including the bargain that Fiach had initially proposed. I grew more anxious as I spoke, eager to get going. Talking was fine, but my father needed rescuing.

  “Well, I know leplings are barmy, but that does take the biscuit. A king jealous because his own kind can produce a brighter rainbow than him.”

  It wasn’t what I expected him to say. And I didn’t expect him to laugh uproariously after saying it. Anger had me on my feet and glaring down at him.

  “I fail to see what’s so funny in my father being killed because of me.”

  “Oh, they won’t kill him.” Jack flicked his hand leaving a trail of snowflakes that drifted to the floor. “They’re calling your bluff. Leprechauns can’t die, Maebh, they’re immortal.”

  “Immortal?” I frowned at him. “I don’t… Father has never mentioned anything about immortality.”

  “Because they likely take it for granted.” He sat up, spread his legs wide and rested his forearms along his thighs. “Let me ask you a question, Maebh. How many leprechauns have you seen since staying with Garbhan?”

  What did that have to do with it? I pulled a face at him, was he perhaps a little touched in the head? A little frozen up top?


  “Humour me.” One eyebrow arched; a grin twisted his lips and my allergy was back. I pulled up the cloth on my face. He frowned but said nothing.

  “Not many, maybe about ten or so.”

  “How many were female?”

  “What?” Now I was confused. “What on earth are you talking about? What does that have to do with getting my father back?”

  “Nothing,” he admitted, and I threw my hands in the air. “However”—he captured my hands in his—“it will explain why they cannot kill your father.”

  Frustrated, scared, and confused I snatched my hands back. “None that I can remember. Why?”

  “There are none.” He got up from his chair. He was so close to me I had to look up to see his face. “Leprechauns aren’t born.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Male and female, Maebh. There are no females, and if there are no females what else won’t there be?”

  I frowned up at him. I was convinced that somewhere along the line, the cold had affected his brain. He was making no sense at all.

  He frowned, and then the most curious thing happened. His eyes sparkled with the same crystals he created in the air. His lips twitched until he was smiling down at me, his white teeth on display which was a little disconcerting, to be honest.

  “Ah, Maebh, my innocent little snowflake.” He pulled down the cloth covering my mouth and nose.

  I inhaled sharply through my nose. His scent filled me and kicked my allergies up to a whole new level. My toes were tingling; my stomach felt as if a thousand butterflies were trapped inside, and it was hard to draw a breath.

  “Has your father never told you of babies? Children? How they arrive in the world?”

  “Through the trees.” I levelled my eyes at him. Of course, father had told me how babies were found. “I know it’s unusual for a leprechaun to find them, but my father was in the right place at the right time.”

  He blinked, surprise flashed into his eyes before it was replaced with a vastly different look. He looked pleased with himself. As if he’d grown the largest potato the Emerald Isle had ever known. His eyes dropped to my lips, making them feel funny. As if I’d been eating too many blueberries and they’d swollen up a little. Except it had to be him. It was the wrong time of year for blueberries.

  This was becoming dangerous. If I became too ill, I’d never be able to help my father. I pulled my cloth over my lower face and humour flashed into his eyes.

  “Why are you wearing that?” he asked, sitting in his chair, and giving me space to breathe.

  Should I tell him I was allergic to him? I didn’t think I’d like to be told I caused allergic reactions in people. It would be a hard thing to live with, knowing I hurt people.

  “Are you frightened of me?” He slumped, ankle resting on his knee as he regarded me.

  “Oh no! It’s not your fault.” I couldn’t let him think the blame lay with him. “Father thinks it’s an allergy, and I’m inclined to believe him”

  “Allergy? To what?” he asked, frowning.

  “You. But it’s not you, it’s not your fault.” I was anxious to reassure him. “Father thinks something about you causes me to react to you in odd ways.”

  “Really?” One eyebrow shot up, but he wasn’t hurt, he looked delighted with what I’d said.

  “This isn’t rescuing my father,” I mumbled, slumping onto my chair only to rise with a howl. I turned and discovered my mending was there along with my long darning needle.

  He shot from his chair and tugged me around to see, laughing when he saw what I’d sat upon.

  “You seem to enjoy a good deal of humour at my expense,” I snapped, feeling stupid and sore, rubbing at the spot the needle had poked.

  “I apologise. I’d offer to make sure there was no lasting damage, but I have a feeling it might make your allergy of me harder to prevent.”

  He meant more than his words said, but I couldn’t discern it now. The day’s events were catching up to me, and I had a long trip ahead of me.

  “I need to leave. I need to find my father.”

  “Oh, you will. Tomorrow,” he replied. “I have a plan that we can use to our mutual benefit.”

  “Plan?”

  “Tomorrow. It’s late, you’re tired and upset.”

  “Tomorrow? No, that is too late. I must leave straight away.”

  “Maebh, you won’t make it tonight. I can see the exhaustion in your eyes. We’ll stay here tonight and talk more in the morning.”

  He had a point, and I nodded reluctantly. Staying here for some rest would be for the best. And then it sank in what he’d said.

  “We?” I blinked at him. Where would he sleep? My father’s bed was much too small for him, and although my bed was more his size, I would be in it. But I doubted I’d get any sleep and made up my mind quickly. “You may sleep in my bed. I will stay here in the chair, and then I shan’t disturb you if I can’t sleep.”

  “Show me your room,” he murmured.

  He had that look in his eyes again, one that seemed to set my stomach fluttering. But I wasn’t feeling sick. I led him to my room, the biggest one in the house.

  “Your bed is big enough for us both,” he remarked. “I can protect you better if we’re together.”

  I stared at him. Did he want to share the bed? I wasn’t at all sure about that. Sometimes when I was small, I’d have nightmares and father would let me curl up with him. But his snores inevitably drove me back to my own bed.

  “I will not take advantage, on that you have my word.”

  “Advantage?” I had very little. “I own nothing worth stealing.”

  “Oh, you do.” He grinned at me. “But you must give it willingly, for I will not steal it.”

  “Do you snore?” I demanded. “Because I cannot share a bed with you if you snore.” That was much more important than silly nonsense about willingly stealing.

  “I don’t know,” he replied, honesty in his eyes. “I’ve never slept with someone. Well, I have but we weren’t sleeping.” He winked at me.

  “Don’t be absurd, if you weren’t sleeping then you have never slept with anyone. If you snore, I shall wake you to tell you.”

  He laughed that ridiculous laugh sending shivers up my spine. Picking me up by my waist he spun me around. Snowflakes and crystals spun out from us and it made the room sparkle beautifully. I was unable to stop the laugh from escaping me, and he beamed at me, looking pleased.

  He set me down and the events of why he was here came back to me. Tears filled my eyes, I was exhausted, but how could I sleep knowing my father was locked up somewhere? What sort of heartless child was I? Laughing while my father suffered.

  “Hey, it’s going to be all right. You have my word as Jack Frost that you won’t have to face this alone.”

  He held out his hands, and I took them, letting him tug me towards the bed. He drew the covers back and got me to lie on my side. Holding my breath, I felt the bed dip and then he was behind me, right behind me. He slid his arm around my waist and tugged me against his chest. I half expected him to be cold. He wasn’t, but neither was he warm. His breath stirred the hair at the back of my neck and the strangest feeling yet happened. A spark of something I didn’t understand slid from the nape of my neck right between my legs. It was pleasant, in fact, it resembled the excitement I felt sometimes when he was visiting.

  “Shh, Sleep, Maebh, I shall watch over your sleep until the sun rises.”

  “I do not think this will work.”

  He shifted and my bottom pressed against his lower stomach. It turned the spark to a kindling fire, and I was unable to hold the groan from my lips. “You are making my allergies worse,” I grumbled.

  He chuckled but didn’t reply, and I resigned myself to a long night.

  * * *

  The touch of warm sunlight on my cheek and wrapped in Jack’s arms was a wonderful way to wake up. I felt safe, warm, and relaxed. But memories of yesterday wiped it away. I had
to rescue my father.

  I tried extricating myself from his hold, but he snuffled, snorted, and tugged me back closer to him. His foot—when had he taken off his boots?—pushed between my shins, and I found my legs entangled with his. He snorted again and then his breathing became even. He was holding me prisoner in his sleep, and it wasn’t a bad feeling.

  I hadn’t stopped to think yesterday, but now it occurred to me how much I trusted him. I hadn’t been shy with him, or wary. It was as if I’d known him my entire life. Which I suppose I had. But other than short conversations, and the crystals he’d produced for me I didn’t know him at all. And yet, I trusted him.

  How odd.

  He shifted, and I was tugged closer. My bottom settled against something hard and lumpy like an over-sized sausage wrapped in... well, leather. But I’d never had the urge to rub against a sausage the way I did now with—whatever that was in his trouser pocket. I thought he had the same urge, because he was pushing that… lump against my bottom. It seemed to get harder and bigger as I pushed back tentatively. Those sparks shot through me, but for once I didn’t mind my allergies. They were feeling rather good.

  “Maebh,” he muttered my name, his hips making small thrusts.

  I was unsure of what was happening, but I was enjoying it. My whole lower half was tingling; a heat settled between my legs that seemed to throb. It was odd, exhilarating, and scary.

  The sparks ignited into a wildfire and I gasped as a rush of warmth made me push my thighs together. The tingling was growing into something that was frankly terrifying me now. I was about to wet myself. In fact, it felt like I already had.

  I wrenched from his hold, no longer worrying if I woke him up. I would be mortified if I wet the bed at my age. I raced from the room, ignoring his shout as I woke him up. I would apologise after I visited the small room.

  * * *

  When I returned, he was sitting on the side of the bed, putting his boots on.

  “I apologise for waking you, but my need for the small room was overwhelming,” I told him.