Gerall's Festivus Bride

by Rebekah R. Ganiere

  “Not particularly.”

  “Was it like a roll in the flour?” Hass picked up two rolls and stuffed them in a bag.

  “Since she’s a baker and there’s no hay.” Ian picked up a loaf of bread and a wedge of cheese.

  “Yes, I understood your connotation.” Gerall pushed his glasses up his nose.

  His brothers stared at him.

  “No,” he finally said. “There wasn’t any rolling anywhere.”

  They chuckled and nodded.

  “Goodnight to all of you.” Gerall turned and headed out of the solar and up toward his room.

  It wasn’t like he hadn’t wanted to. Heavens above the more time he spent with Eloa, the more he didn’t want to be parted from her. Yes, he’d thought about feeling her soft curves pressed against his. To kiss the dip of her throat and glide his tongue down between the swells of her peachy breasts.

  He pushed open his bedroom door and quickly stripped his cloak and tunic. The air in the house had become unbearably warm. He opened his window and stood to let the breeze wash over his skin, pebbling it.

  He closed his eyes and envisioned Eloa lying in his bed. Her beautiful chestnut hair spread out over his pillows— her peachy limbs encircling him. The green silk comforter would match her eyes.

  Gah! He opened his eyes and scanned his room. He needed to get her out of his head. That wasn’t proper to think of a lady like that. She deserved to be treated with respect, not to be fantasied over.

  His gaze roamed the room. When had he let it become such a disaster? He moved about systematically picking up his clothes, boots, and books and putting them where they belonged. He spent thirty minutes tidying his room and trying to keep his thoughts off Eloa before finally heading off to bathe. He stood by the tub and imagined Eloa lying in it, covered in bubbles.

  Ah, damn. He pinched the bridge of his nose. It would be a cold bath for him tonight. Otherwise, he wouldn’t sleep at all.

  Chapter Nine

  Gerall sat with Eloa and his family in front of the stage where a group of townsfolk produced a play, but his eyes weren’t on the play, they were on Eloa. He’d gotten up early to help her set up her stand and sell her goods, and then they’d met his family for a picnic and puppet show. She fit into the group like she’d always been there. Playing with the babies and chatting with his sisters-in-law like old friends. She’d especially taken to Zelle, Gerall appreciated her for all the more. Too many of the townsfolk stared at Zelle or whispered about her. Not that she either noticed or cared.

  Eloa laughed and clapped her hands at a joke on stage that he missed. But Gerall couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away from her. She, like Zelle, didn’t seem to care what others thought of her. He didn’t know many women that would carry on so well after losing both parents and having no family to rely on. Yet she took to it with hard work and determination. She held an inner strength that even few men possessed.

  As if sensing his eyes on her, she looked at him in the setting sunlight. Her green eyes lit like emeralds.

  “Would you like to go for a walk?” He couldn’t seem to spend enough time with her, getting to know everything about her.

  She looked around and then back at the stage before hopping to her feet and helping him up as well. He wanted to keep holding her soft slender hand, but she slipped it away and allowed him to lead.

  “Where should we go?”

  He hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Where would you like to go?”

  They started toward the village center. “I’ve always enjoyed going down to the pond by the mill.”

  “Truly?” he asked.

  “Why not? It’s a warm evening. We can dip our feet in the water.”

  He nodded and followed her across the grass behind the puppet theater. They walked for several minutes, and he enjoyed the tranquil silence that fell between them.

  “You are so peaceable,” she said.

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  She shook her head. “When you and your family used to come to town, I could pick you out of all of them within an instant.”

  “Because I’m the thinnest?”

  She laughed. “No. Because your brothers are always so energetic. So boisterous. But you. You possess a peaceable air.”

  She used to watch him when he came to town?

  “I remember one time when your brothers were roughhousing with the blacksmith’s boys. A fight ensued, and you calmly stepped in and ended it with a few sharp words. None of us had ever seen you like that before. The confidence and fierceness you exuded told everyone that you weren’t to be trifled with.”

  He remembered that day. “A boy had punched Kellan in the nose. The wrestling had been good sport, but the boy had punched Kellan for no other reason than to say he’d punched a Gwyn. Kellan was only seven or eight, and bullying is one thing I can’t abide.”

  They turned the corner, and the mill came into view. The smell of grain filling the air.

  “You remember a lot about me,” he said.

  She peeked over at him, and her cheeks deepened a shade. “I admit I was quite lovestruck by you when I was young. After you rescued me with that haypence at the well, I could barely control my tender little heart.”

  He smiled. “Only a haypence? Well, then what did my gold pieces for the baked goods earn me?”

  “A lot of wonderful baked goods.”

  He laughed. “True. True.”

  She’d been lovestruck by him when she was a child. He wondered what she felt now.

  A family of ducks and several geese swam in the pond, paddling back and forth. Eloa led him down to a grassy spot on the bank, and she slipped off her shoes.

  He sat next to her and pulled off his boots and stockings, setting them aside. Eloa scooted forward, tied up her skirt and pushed up her bloomers before walking into the pond. She threw her head back and smiled, letting the setting light shine down on her face.

  He watched her for several minutes as she basked in the glow. She turned in a slow circle, and the light illuminated her long slender neck and the swells of her breasts. She stopped turning and looked at him.

  “Are you coming in?”

  “I’m enjoying the view.”

  She smiled and then gathered water in her hands and threw it at him. He rolled out of the way, and the water landed on the grass.

  “You missed.”

  She scooped up water again and again threw it at him. He rolled away a second time and determination set on her face. She splashed water at him, and he moved again, but she splashed quicker a second time and hit him square in the face.

  He sputtered and wiped his face.

  Her eyes widened, and she shook her head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

  He didn’t let her finish her sentence before he leapt to his feet and raced into the water. She squealed and ran the opposite direction. He chased after her, and in her heavy dress and skirt, she slowed and looked back.

  “Gerall, I said I’m sorry. Now you better stop. In truth, you better.”

  He stalked forward despite her words. Eloa smiled and bit her bottom lip while trying to get away from him. She headed for the edge of the pond and ran out onto the grass once more, and Gerall smiled. He kept his distance just enough to give her the sense that she might get away from him. Then he sprinted after her. She peeked over her shoulder just before he caught her. She shrieked as he grabbed her around the waist and slowed her fall. They tumbled to the ground, and he landed on top of her, both of them laughing.

  Her slender form fit underneath his, soft and lush, making his arousal grow. She stopped laughing and smiled up at him. He pushed the hair from her forehead and ran his knuckles across her cheek. She licked her lips, and her eyes stayed on him, wide and hopeful.

  Eloa’s heart beat so fast she feared Gerall could feel it through her bodice. He stared at her, his face still wet and his glasses dripping from where she’d splashed him. Desire filled his gaze and sent tingles through her. He bent close to he
r, his lips inches from hers. She shouldn’t. She shouldn’t get close to him. She should tell him the truth about what she was and let him walk away from her, his reputation still intact. Anything less would end in her pain and possibly his ruination.

  He lingered inches above her lips.

  “Gerall.”

  “Yes.”

  “I need to tell you something.”

  “Do you?” He rubbed her right earlobe between his thumb and forefinger.

  “Yes. Something about me.”

  “Is it important?”

  Her throat dried. “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Do you want to tell me?”

  She didn’t want to do anything that might take him away from her. “No.”

  “Then don’t.”

  She shook her head. “It’s not that simple. This thing about me. It… could hurt you. Your family.”

  He chuckled. “I’m positive that’s not true.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “I don’t need to. Everything I need to know about you I already do. I would consider myself a relatively intelligent man. I’d think that by now, I could judge people pretty well. I doubt there is anything you could tell me that would change my perception of you.”

  “Even so. I have to tell you.”

  His eyes grew serious, and he studied her for a moment. “This thing you have to tell me. Is it the reason those two men in town have been eyeing you?”

  A chill raced over her skin. If she said no, she’d be lying to him. But if she said yes, it could very well mean his life.

  “I… I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I saw them looking at you. Watching you. I saw the fear on your face—”

  Eloa sat up suddenly causing Gerall rolled off of her. “I should go.”

  “Eloa—”

  “I have much baking to get done for tomorrow.” She jumped to her feet and grabbed her shoes.

  “Eloa, please,” Gerall called.

  She sprinted toward the mill. She couldn’t do it. She wouldn’t put him in danger. Gerall didn’t deserve what would come to him if he became entangled in her mess. She needed to stand on her own two feet.

  Her heart cried out for Gerall. She wanted to tell him the truth. The most fantastic feeling of her life had been moments before in his arms. But she refused to be his downfall.

  “Hello, Eloa.”

  She looked up. Charlie leaned against the wall of the mill.

  “You and Lord Gwyn seemed to be getting quite cozy in the grass.”

  She slipped her shoes on and stomped toward town.

  “Does he know about you? Did you tell him so that he can protect you and you don’t have to pay? Did you give yourself to him?”

  Eloa stopped moving. Rage coursed through her.

  “You know it doesn’t have to be like this. I know what you are, and I don’t care,” he continued.

  She spun around. “Stay away from me, Charlie. Trust me; I’m not the pretty sparrow you think I am.”

  He advanced, looking her up and down. “Aren’t you now? You look like no more than a pretty sparrow. And pretty sparrow, I could protect you from Trent. From the others in town.”

  Something was going on. If she could get information, maybe she could help Gerall.

  “So, you’re saying that if I give in to you, you’ll keep me safe? I won’t have to pay the gold piece a week?” She stepped closer to him, and he smiled, revealing crooked teeth.

  “I’d be sure of it.” He ran his hand down her arm.

  Bile rose in her throat, but she kept the smile on her face. “And who would you keep me safe from?”

  “Trent.”

  “So, it’s Trent who runs the racket of protection for the shop owners?” She touched his chest as he rested his hand on her hip.

  “Of course not. We’re second in charge.”

  She rubbed a circle on his chest as he moved closer. “And who is in charge?”

  He smiled at her again and then his eyes steeled. He grabbed her hips and dragged her in contact with him.

  “You don’t need to know that.”

  She let her smile drop. “Let go of me.”

  “What? Suddenly passing me over now that you know I’m not the head man?”

  “I said to let go. If you don’t, you won’t like the outcome.”

  “Oh, really? I like a good fight.”

  “So do I.” Gerall stepped out of the shadows and pulled Charlie’s hand from Eloa’s body.

  “Gerall, don’t!” she cried.

  Charlie gave a loathsome grin and pulled a dagger from his waistband. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

  “No,” said Gerall. “I really think I should have.”

  Eloa stepped in the way and put her hand up to stop Charlie. “Stop. It’s me you want.”

  “Not anymore.” Charlie pushed her out of the way.

  Eloa stumbled and hit the side of the mill.

  “Don’t touch her,” Gerall growled

  “When I’m done with you, I’ll do more than touch her.” Charlie lunged at Gerall and Eloa screamed.

  Gerall spun out of the way faster than she could see. He stuck out his leg, tripping Charlie. Charlie stumbled forward, and Gerall kicked him in the rear.

  “You don’t want to do this,” said Gerall. “Stop now, and I promise I won’t hurt you. I’ll just take you to my brothers to answer some questions.”

  Charlie spun around. “You can’t question me if you’re dead.”

  He ran at Gerall again, and Gerall went to spin out of the way, but Charlie met him head-on. He slashed with his knife opening Gerall’s tunic with a quick strike.

  Gerall backed up and grabbed his stomach. Blood seeped through the fabric staining it red.

  Eloa took a step forward. “Gerall!”

  Charlie advanced, stabbing at Gerall’s gut again, but Gerall grabbed the knife and twisted it out of Charlie’s hands, flinging it to the ground. He punched Charlie in the face with several quick strikes. Charlie doubled over, and Gerall kneed him in the gut twice.

  Charlie fell to the ground, and Gerall kicked him in the face. Gerall lost his footing, and his glasses flew from his face, landing several feet away. Charlie fell backward, sprawled on the ground. Gerall jumped on top of him, punching him in the face until Charlie’s body went limp.

  Eloa ran forward and grabbed Gerall’s arm. “Gerall, stop. He’s down.”

  Gerall looked at her, his eyes focused in a way she’d only seen when he’d broken up that fight when they were kids.

  He took a deep breath and grabbed his stomach. Blood drenched the entire front of his tunic. Eloa caught him as he fell off Charlie.

  Eloa moved his hands to look at the wound.

  “Guess I’m a bit rustier than I thought,” he breathed. “Go get my brothers, please.”

  She lifted his tunic and gasped. The wound was deep enough that she could see the layers beneath his skin. Her stomach turned, and she fought the urge to throw up.

  “This is bad.” Guilt raced through her, and tears dripped from her eyes. “Why did you do that? He could have killed you.”

  “You’d have been worth it.”

  She shook her head. “No. I’m not. You don’t know.” She continued to shake her head as blood poured through her fingers. No. This could not be happening. She couldn’t let him die. She couldn’t.

  “Get my brothers. They can fix me.”

  “No. You’ll bleed out while I’m gone.”

  He tried to lift his head to look.

  “Lay still.” She couldn’t sit on her rear and let him die. She had to do something. Her gut clenched. She could heal him. But if she did...

  She looked deep into his eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “For what?”

  “For not telling you sooner.”

  “Telling me what?”

  Eloa looked at her hands and pulled her magick from deep within. She focused on Gerall’s wound and forced her magick
through her palms to his skin. She willed the magick to fix him. A moment passed and then the blood beneath her fingers staunched. The skin knit slowly back together, leaving a long, puckered scar.

  Eloa sucked in a deep breath. Every muscle in her body ached, and her eyelids drooped with fatigue. She’d not used that much magick in her life.

  Gerall sat up, his eyes wide. She dropped her gaze to her shaking hands. What would he say? Would he turn on her? Kick her out of Westfall? She sucked in a breath and waited.

  Gerall reached out and pushed her hair from her ear and ran his fingers up the rim of it to the tip. She resisted looking at him. She couldn’t bear to see his face.

  “Eloa. Look at me.” He pulled her chin so that she faced him again, but she wouldn’t lift her eyes.

  He cupped her face in his calloused hands, and her chest squeezed tighter than a corset. She finally lifted her gaze and looked into his gentle face.

  She opened her mouth to explain, but before she could say anything, his lips pressed against hers softly.

  Pure white energy rolled through her body, warming every inch of her from the inside out. Her heart thundered, and he released her mouth and smiled.

  “You’re fae,” he said. “That’s what they have over you, isn’t it?”

  She nodded and searched his face.

  “All right. Get my brothers. I’ll wait here with Charlie. We’re going to fix this. Don’t worry.”

  “You... you don’t hate me?”

  He chuckled. “I’d be a hypocrite if I did.”

  What did that mean? “What about your brothers? Will they—”

  “They won’t bat an eye.” He brushed her hair from her face. “Go. Swiftly. I’m going to need their help getting Charlie back to the manor house without the whole town seeing us.”

  She pushed to her feet and brushed off her dress. “Don’t go anywhere.”

  He pressed his hand to his stomach. “Trust me. I’m not.”

  Eloa looked to Charlie and then ran over and grabbed his knife and Gerall’s glasses and dropped them in his lap.

  “I’ll be back in a minute.” Eloa hitched up her skirt and headed back for the green.

  A weight lifted off her shoulders, making her smile. He hadn’t even cared she was half-fae. More than that, he’d kissed her. Gerall Gwyn had kissed her.