Fantasyland 01 Wildest Dreams (10 page)

Ho
boy!

Now frantic, though unfortunately belatedly,
I started to scoot back, saying, “Um… would you mind if –?” but I
again didn’t finish.

This was because, without appearing to move,
he was reclining in bed and I was reclining with him. He flicked
the covers over us then both his powerful arms locked around me and
yanked me to his side.

“Cradle my thigh,” he growled and I blinked
at his chest, pushing lightly against it, registering it was as
powerfully muscled as his back and so wide it seemed to go on
forever.

“Wha… what?”

“As you did the quilt,” he stated then got
impatient. His hand, starting at my hip, moved swiftly down my
thigh, his torso (and me, I might add, since his other arm was
still locked around me) lifting in order to reach, then his fingers
hooked the back of my knee and he yanked my leg up until I was
doing what he asked, half straddling his thigh like I did the
covers.

Then he settled back down in bed and kept
firm hold on me.

“Well, uh… okay, uh… do you think –?” I
started but he cut me off again.

“This is not the welcome home I’d like,
wife, but it’ll do and you’ll sleep here, like this, until the
morning. You don’t, I’ll take the welcome home from you I’d like
and I won’t delay. Do you understand me?”

I understood him. I was totally okay with
sleeping like this because I had a feeling I knew what kind of
welcome home he’d like.

And incidentally, I was right about drunk
guys not minding lesbians.

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Now shut your mouth and sleep.”

I pressed my lips together in order not to
inform him that he hadn’t actually let me open my mouth to say much
of anything. I didn’t think he’d appreciate that reminder at that
juncture.

What I did not do was sleep.

He was out in seconds.

I still did not sleep.

Penelope clawed her way back up the rope,
curled at my one free foot and purred herself to slumber and I
still did not sleep.

I knew that dawn had to have touched the sky
(though I couldn’t see it with the curtains closed) and then, only
then, did I find sleep.

And unfortunately when that happened, in
sleep, I curled deeper into the big, hard, stranger at my side, my
arm snaking around him and holding tight, my thigh curving around
his, my knee and calf falling between his legs, my hips cradled by
the side of his, my cheek pillowed on his massive, hard chest.

This was something I did normally in my
sleep with covers and pillows.

Something I did that night with something
a lot warmer, a lot more comfortable and
a lot
more dangerous.

And when I slept curled tight around my
dark stranger husband, I slept
deep
.

Phew

I slept in but Penelope was still with me
when I woke.

And Penelope was my only bedmate.

Phew.

I lay in the warm cocoon of covers that was
pulled up to my neck and wondered if my dark stranger husband
pulled them up after he left me in bed which would be a surprising
indication he could be thoughtful.

Then I figured he did because I likely
didn’t.

Then I didn’t know what to do with that so I
set it aside and listened to the house.

Nothing.

I couldn’t even feel his presence.

Phew. Okay. Good.

Space to get my head straight.

Penelope sensed I was awake and sauntered up
the curved line of my body then jumped down to curl in the warm
shell of my belly, lap and thighs and there she started purring. I
noted the windows were covered by the heavy curtains and the
curtain was still drawn at the railing but sunlight was coming
through there (not at the windows, they didn’t mess around in
Lunwyn with curtains, total blackout situation, nothing got
through, they even had draft protectors to set at the base of the
doors). This had to mean it was late morning for Lunwyn’s days were
very short, by my estimation, starting around nine or ten and
ending around two or three. Then it was moonlight all the way.

I tipped my head and saw the fire was
blazing, heating the small nest of space.

Definitely my dark stranger husband
did
that
for me
unless Lunwyn had heretofore unknown fire fairies.

Another surprising act of
thoughtfulness.

Hmm.

I pulled just an arm out of the covers to
scratch Penelope behind the ears as I considered my dilemma.

First, I was married and my husband was
home.

Second, I was not a lesbian like he thought
I was.

Third, my husband was a renowned Raider,
known to be virile and “skilled in that area” but also it was clear
he
was
very virile
unless you were blind, deaf and lost all your senses of
perception.

Fourth, I knew there was a strong
possibility the rumors of his “skill” were true with the one kiss
he’d given me, the light touch he’d woken me with last night and
the gentle way he touched my jaw and neck.

Fifth, he liked my hair.

Sixth, he wanted to sleep with me cuddled to
his side.

Seventh, he left me covered and cocooned,
stoking up the fire to keep me warm.

Hmm.

On the other hand…

First, he’d married me, hauled me across
country for hours upon hours through the freezing cold night and
left me in a dirty house all by myself for six weeks (well, the
house wasn’t dirty for six weeks, but he sure as hell left me there
alone that long).

Second, when he first saw me again, he
bossed me around right in front of everyone without even saying
hello. Granted, he was with his buds, and maybe obviously virile,
Viking-type Raiders behaved that way in front of their buds, but he
could at least have said hello.

Third, for reasons unknown he’d carried me
out like a sack of flour, again, right in front of everyone.

Fourth, he’d sent my horse galloping when I
was not secure on her back.

Fifth, he barely spoke to me, didn’t let
me talk when he
was
speaking and
most of the stuff he said when he was speaking, I didn’t like
much.

And last, he was huge, scared me most of the
time and, um… he scared me most of the time (that was worth
repeating).

I left Penelope to her purring, put my arm
back under the covers, rolled to my back to stare at the ceiling
and kept thinking.

I was an adventurer but I wasn’t a
sexual
adventurer.

There were two reasons for this.

First, I had a bunch of money. My father
inherited a shitload from my grandfather and after the plane he was
piloting with Mom in it went down over the Nile, I inherited his
shitload of money.

Money made people do stupid stuff and lots
of it was not so nice. And having lots of it made you a target for
some not so nice folks who did stupid stuff mostly to get you to
use your money on them or just to get your money. So, I’d learned
early and Dad had taught me to be careful with my heart (and my
money). So I was.

I had good friends but they were few. Trust
was difficult when you were loaded like me.

I’d had far fewer lovers.

Second, I was just plain careful with my
heart. I’d lost the two people I loved most in my life when I was
fifteen. That hurt. Too much. I didn’t want that to happen again
and if I was going to risk it, I was damn well going to make
certain I took that risk on the right guy.

That guy, so far, had not made an appearance
and, so far, no guy even came close.

So, two and two together meant that I didn’t
go there. This didn’t mean I was a virgin, it was just – you share
your body, you open a part of yourself and make it vulnerable. So
unless I was sure I could cut ties or I had my head on straight
(the latter being a rare occasion with me), I didn’t take that
risk. Vulnerable was not something I liked to be.

But this situation was something else.

This was an adventure with a limited time
span.

In ten and a half months, I was going home
to my friends, my house, my money and new adventures. I wasn’t
staying here, no way. They didn’t have planes here or cell phones
or sushi.

True, it would have been good after what I
read in those books, especially about the Raiders, to discover more
than Lunwyn. Hawkvale sounded beautiful, Bellebryn gorgeous and
Fleuridia was known to have really good food and it must be said, I
liked really good food. To explore it all, I could use two years
here, maybe three.

But that would mean leaving behind my
friends, my house, my money and sushi for two years, maybe
three.

I wasn’t about to do that.

And I was loaded but I couldn’t throw a
million dollars at trip after trip.

This was a onetime deal.

So here I was, a princess in a frozen world
with a very scary yet very hot husband who could really kiss and
liked to cuddle.

And I knew I was going home so there was no
risk because I knew those ties would be cut.

Then Sjofn would have to deal as she’d left
me to do the same.

And Frey Drakkar…

Well, we’d see how I’d handle that.

First I had to see if he could communicate
in the sense that he listened as well as talked and when he talked
he didn’t only say scary shit or stuff that pissed me off but
other… uh, stuff.

Then I would decide.

I rolled out of bed, banked the fire, shoved
back the curtain and climbed down. I found fires burning merrily in
both fireplaces as well as the kitchen stove (which, seriously,
being iron, conducted a lot of heat, the kitchen was always cozy
warm) and there was fresh brewed coffee – strong and good.

He could make good coffee and he could build
good fires meaning I didn’t have to do either. This meant his plus
column was growing. So far there were only four things on it but
yesterday there were none so I had hope.

I heated some water, washed a bit at the
basin in the bathroom space and pulled on some undergarments,
cashmere stockings attached to garters and a long, dusty pink, soft
wool knit dress that clung everywhere, had a scooped neckline, some
serious cleavage (by the way, all my dresses had serious cleavage,
this was the way they were made, this was what my underwear also
made when I strapped it on and, it had to be said, natural cleavage
was the way
I
was made) and
long flowing sleeves that belled out at the wrists. I pulled my
hair back from my face with a pink satin ribbon, tied the long,
matching knit belt so it hung low on my hips, touched some perfume
behind my ears and at my wrists and headed to the kitchen to make
Penelope a late breakfast and her Momma some brunch.

Penelope was on all fours, belly to the
floor and had her face in a bowl of leftover chicken I’d warmed by
setting it on the stove when the backdoor opened, Frey Drakkar
prowled through and then he stopped dead when he saw me.

I took him in.

A first, no knives or sword. Another first,
his hair was partially wet. He’d also shaved. Someone had visited
the hot spring.

Hmm.

It must be said, I kind of liked the
beard.

As I took him in, I realized I kept
forgetting how big he was. By then, I was used to that kitchen. It
wasn’t mammoth but it wasn’t small either.

With him in it, it seemed tiny.

His eyes were on me standing at the butcher
block whisking pancake batter. I watched them go down the length of
me he could see then they went up.

I swallowed.

Then I said, “Hi.”

My word activated him, he moved in, swung
his arm around that I hadn’t noticed was carrying a large stick
over his shoulder and he plonked the dead carcass of a small (what
looked like a
baby
) deer on
the kitchen table.

I blinked.

Then I gagged.

Then I controlled my urge to hurl, pulled in
breath and looked from the dead deer to him.

“Uh… I have a rule. No dead game on the
kitchen table.”

His green-brown eyes held mine. He didn’t
speak. He also didn’t move.

Okay, ignore big dead animal
carcass and move on, Finnie,
I told myself.

I searched for a good strategy. Then I hoped
I found it.

“
I… well, um… I just wanted to say, uh…
before I forget, thanks for stoking the fire upstairs and keeping
me warm while I slept in,” I said, thinking that was nice, noticing
and commenting on something
he
did
that was nice.

He crossed his arms on his chest and studied
me.

All righty then.

“You, um, came home last night after having
a few,” I noted, got no response, I waited just in case his brain
didn’t work as fast as mine, still got no response so I continued.
“You look okay. I hope you aren’t hungover.”

Nothing.

Okay. Right.

“Would you like pancakes? I’m making a late
breakfast of pancakes and bacon.” More nothing. “Uh… if you want to
eat, you’ll have to remove the dead animal.”

Finally, a semi-response. He picked up the
deer, opened the backdoor and flung it on the back porch where it
landed with a sickening thud.

I winced.

Eek!

He closed the door.

“Thanks,” I whispered.

He walked toward me, I braced then he walked
by me, grabbed the handle of the kettle then prowled out of the
room.

I relaxed.

Then I set about wiping down the table
(doing this mostly with my eyes closed then, still with my eyes
closed and finding it with arms in front of me walking like a
mummy, I threw the cloth out the backdoor) after which I put the
slices of bacon I’d already cut into the warming skillet.