A Basket of Wishes

by Rebecca Paisley

  Lost in the hard, powerful sight of him and the warm, thick feel of him, Splendor didn’t reply. Her curiosity rising, she moved her hand upon him. Up to the velvety tip of him, then down to the base of him.

  She’d never seen fairy men look this way before. This way…stiff and erect. “’Tis much like a thick, fat cattail, isn’t it?”

  Her outlandish comparison stunned him into a moment of disbelieving silence. One second he felt insulted, and then he knew an instant of amusement.

  He smiled, but resisted laughter. He’d been forced to marry Splendor, he sternly reminded himself. He was still furious.

  But mirth continued to rise through his anger.

  He was about to make love to his bride, for God’s sake. Now was not the time to laugh.

  He couldn’t help it. Laughter rumbled in his chest then spilled from his lips, causing his shoulders to shake and the bed to bounce.

  “You are laughing,” Splendor said. “’Tis a supremely joyful sound, Jourdian, one with which you should gift the world often.”

  He leaned over her, supporting himself with his hands beside her cheeks. For a second, he could do naught but stare at her beauty. The limpid violet pools of her eyes, the rosy softness of her lips, and her magnificent hair, which lay spread around her like a huge red halo.

  The mellow firelight in the room cast a golden hue to her milk white skin, but he could still detect her sparkle. That odd but lovely glow she wore over her body like a shimmering silver veil.

  “Jourdian?”

  He felt her hand boldly traveling down his manhood again. Once more, he wondered about her casual inspection of him. “Splendor,” he murmured, “I have accepted as true your unmitigated innocence, but what I cannot understand is your absolute composure at this moment. You act as though you have seen hundreds of naked men in your lifetime. Can you explain that, sprite?”

  She blinked up at him. Humans wore clothing, she reminded herself, and her poor show of response over Jourdian’s nakedness had struck him as quite peculiar.

  Her mind spun like a dandelion puff whirling in the wind. “I— Every trace of you pleases me, Jourdian. Your arms as much as your face. Your face as much as your hands and legs and feet. I see you in your entirety. Is it wrong for me to be pleased by the whole of you? Or would you have me choose favorite elements of your body? Should I prefer your lips because of your kisses, or should I favor your hands because of the delicious pleasure their touch gives to me? I could fancy your arms because they feel strong when wrapped around me.

  “Or,” she added, her voice softening as her fingers caressed the velvet length of his masculinity, “I could choose this part of you as the best liked. I will endeavor to be partial to whatever part of your body you desire, but in truth I would rather be pleasured by all of you, for I did not marry this hot, hard aspect of you, nor did I marry your face, arms, legs, chest, or feet. I married you, Jourdian, the man, the whole man from top to bottom.”

  He knew there existed some manner of argument to her explanation, but he’d be damned if he could figure out what it was. On the contrary, the words she’d used to justify her calm acceptance of his nudity made him feel foolish for questioning her in the first place.

  Still, he had to make some sort of comment. “A cattail, eh?” He glanced down at himself, and decided to accept her comparison as a compliment. Many years had passed since he’d taken the time to look at a real cattail, but if his memory served him correctly, they were none too small.

  “Jourdian, I realize you are about to tutor me in the art of lovemaking, but I would remind you of the one thing I asked of you at our wedding this afternoon.” Gently, Splendor tugged at one of the midnight locks of hair at the nape of his neck, then drew her finger along the chiseled crest of his cheek. “A child, husband. ’Tis what I asked of you, and you said that we would discuss my request tonight.”

  “We’ll do more than discuss your request, wife,” he answered huskily. “We will seek to fulfill it.”

  His reply so thrilled her she squealed with pleasure.

  “And will we strive to fulfill my wish for a child now, or after you have schooled me in the art of lovemaking?”

  “During.”

  She did not question him. Her father had told her Jourdian would know what to do, and she trusted that her husband did, indeed, know. “Then I am ready to conceive your child.”

  The instant the words were out of her mouth, she felt and saw an immediate change come over Jourdian. Every muscle visible to her tensed, grew, and his jawline hardened as if he were clenching his teeth. His breathing became labored and uneven, and a fine sheen of perspiration broke out over his forehead.

  He lowered his massive frame upon her and, keeping his weight off her by propping himself up on his elbow, he covered her mouth with his own. Kissing her slowly, deliberately, he slipped his hand between her thighs. His fingers glided through the slick petals of her femininity and delved gently into her wet heat.

  “Jourdian!”

  His name on her lips heightened his blistering need to bury himself inside her. Assured that she was well prepared to receive him, he nudged her thighs apart with his knee, knelt between them, and grasped her hips.

  “Wrap your legs around me, Splendor,” he instructed.

  The smoldering tone in his voice licked at her senses like fire. She curled her trembling legs around his waist, and felt the hot crown of his masculinity caress the hidden entrance to her body.

  Hidden? she repeated silently. No part of her was hidden from her husband’s hot, consuming gaze.

  “Splendor, I’m going to be inside you in a moment,” he tried to make her understand. To emphasize, he pushed into her ever so slightly.

  Her eyes widened in alarm. “Jourdian, you don’t mean to—”

  “Yes.”

  “But… But ’twill not fit, husband!”

  “It will, and I promise to give you the pleasure again, Splendor. Only this time, I’ll feel it with you.”

  She summoned back her trust in him and lay still, hardly daring to breath as she waited for him to do this fairly impossible thing to her.

  He tightened his hold on her hips, more than a little worried about the pain he was about to cause her. He’d never lain with a virgin before, and angry though he remained over the circumstances of their marriage, hurting his fragile bride was the last thing in the world he wanted to do.

  Quickly, he thought. One swift thrust, and then he would do everything he knew how to do to transform her pain into the pleasure he’d promised her.

  He took a deep breath and drew his hips back in preparation to drive them forward.

  “Jourdian?”

  His breath rushed from his lungs. “Splendor, for God’s sake,” he whispered raggedly. “I cannot wait any longer.”

  “But I only want to know one thing.” She placed her hands on his belly, her thumbs rubbing over his navel. “When you do this lovemaking to me, does it mean that you love me?”

  No sound did Jourdian make as her softly spoken question hit his ears. Indeed he could have sworn that the very beat of his pulse had ceased.

  Love.

  The emotion could tear to pieces the heart of a young boy and turn a strong and powerful man into a simpering fool. “Bloody hell.”

  The harshness in his voice scraped over her nerves like millions of thorns. She looked into his eyes—eyes as frigid and fierce as frozen daggers. She’d seen him angry several times since she’d met him in the meadow, but she knew it was not mere anger she was seeing now.

  It was rage.

  Truly frightened, she saw the first sparkles of her mist appear around her, and knew she would fade right in front of him.

  But just before she surrendered to the irresistible pull of the glistening vapor, she saw Jourdian get off the bed and yank his pants on. He stormed out of the room without a word, slamming the door so hard that two paintings fell off the wall.

  And the fairy princess he’d married wept di
amonds and dissolved into a circle of shimmering haze.

  Chapter Eleven

  Splendor’s first thought when she awakened the next morning was to confront Jourdian. Sweet everlasting, she had so much to say to him. Not only was she determined to learn the reason why her mention of love had so infuriated him last night, but she was also intent on following Emil’s advice. She would tell Jourdian about herself.

  Today, this morning, her husband would learn that his pet name for her was an accurate description of who and what she was.

  “I truly am a sprite, Jourdian,” she practiced while donning the silk shirt she’d worn to her wedding. “A pixie, an elf, an imp… I am a fairy, husband, the princess royal of Pillywiggin.”

  She left her room and headed toward Jourdian’s chambers, where she assumed he’d slept last night. His rooms were on the third floor of the mansion, and she flew up two long flights of stairs to arrive there.

  Upon entering the long corridor, she saw the door to his chambers was open.

  But it was Emil, not Jourdian, who stood inside.

  “Emil, where is Jourdian?” she asked, stepping into the room.

  He couldn’t look at her. Instead, he stared at the ceiling. “Gone.”

  “Gone downstairs?”

  “No, gone from this house. He left, Splendor. Ulmstead said he departed before dawn.”

  “But where did he go?”

  Finally, Emil looked at her and hated the dejected expression he saw on her face. Damn Jourdian Amberville to hell and back, he seethed. How could the man leave his bride the day after their wedding? “I don’t know where he went, Splendor, but I’m sure he won’t be gone long. He’ll be back. You’ll see. He’ll be back before you’ve even had time to miss him.”

  “I already miss him.”

  When he saw a suspicious glitter in her eyes, he moved to embrace her. “Don’t cry,” he murmured, patting her back. “Please don’t cry.”

  A few more of her diamond tears sprinkled down to the floor before she stopped weeping. “I would like to be alone for a short while, Emil. Here, in Jourdian’s room, where all his things are.”

  “Of course.” He released her, and tweaked her nose. “I’m going home this morning, but is there anything I can do for you before I leave?”

  “Nay,” she said, and smiled. “Is there anything I can do for you?’

  He felt like hugging her again. She was undoubtedly the sweetest person he’d ever met. “Yes. Be happy.”

  “I am almost always happy, Emil.”

  How true, Emil thought. Most of the time, she really was happy. What a fool Jourdian was to walk out on such a treasure. “I’ll be back to visit you tomorrow.”

  “I shall look forward to seeing you.”

  When Emil was gone, Splendor shut the door. No sooner had she done so than the room filled with bright silver light.

  And in the next second, a human-sized Harmony appeared. “Who is that man, sister?” she asked while floating on her back some six feet above the floor. “I saw him at your wedding yesterday, too. Oh, Father told me to tell you that he’s glad you’re married. You’re to let him know the instant you’re with child so you can come home to Pillywiggin. Are you with child?”

  “Nay.”

  “When will you be?”

  “I am not certain.”

  “How does one get with child? I asked Father, but he told me to ask Mother. Mother, however, is gone on one of her missions, as usual. She’s been home but one time since you left, and she only stayed a little over an hour before she flew off again.”

  “She’s very diligent with her missions. She must be.”

  “How does one get with child?” Harmony asked again.

  Splendor raised her hands up by her shoulders in a gesture of ignorance. “I still do not know.” She drifted off the floor to join her sister in the air. “I am supremely glad to see you.”

  Harmony flew to recline on the mantel, knocking several crystal knickknacks over in the process. The decorations fell to the marble hearth and splintered into millions of bits.

  Quickly, Splendor cast a handful of stardust over the broken sit-arounds, and in moments the knickknacks were whole again.

  “What a good-deed doer you are, Splendor,” Harmony spat.

  “Harmony, you must help me.”

  “Nay. I’m mad at you. Mad as mad can be because you spoiled my fun yesterday at your wedding. Really, Splendor, a few hornet stings—”

  “You are mad at me?” Splendor smiled broadly. “Oh, ’tis precisely the sort of aid I need!”

  “For me to be mad at you? Splendor, I think you have been with these humans too long. You are becoming demented.” Splendor floated nearer to the mantel. “I want you to teach me how to become angry.”

  Harmony’s laughter burst through the room. “’Twould be far easier for to me to teach a bull to play a harp!”

  “Will you try?”

  “Nay.”

  “But—”

  “Who was that man in here with you?”

  Anxious though she was to take anger lessons from Harmony, Splendor knew her sister would not be denied answers to any questions she might ask. “He is Emil Tate, and he is Jourdian’s cousin.”

  “It does not hurt my eyes to look upon him.”

  “Aye, he is handsome, isn’t he? A dear and kind man he is, too.”

  “A dear and kind man he is, too,” Harmony repeated, imitating Splendor’s soft, gentle voice. “How nauseating.” Arms curled around her belly, she bent over at the waist and pretended to be sick to her stomach.

  “Harmony, I rarely ask favors from you, as you well know. But—”

  “Ha! Just four days past, you had me rid you of those prickles. These petitions of yours are becoming a habit, Splendor. And in case you’ve forgotten, I’m not the family wish-granter. You’ve won that revolting little title.”

  Splendor descended back down to the floor and sat down on a small stool across the room. “If I’m to make Jourdian happy, I must know how to become angry at him. He is angry often, and Emil says I should learn—”

  “Who cares if he’s happy or not? Honestly, Splendor, is there no end to your obnoxious goodness?”

  Splendor chose her words carefully. “Speaking of his happiness, Harmony ... I must ask that you cease tormenting him. You tied his hair into elf knots, didn’t you? And when you stung him yesterday at the wedding you caused him pain. And when you threw his boots on his head the other day, you—”

  “I’d rather hoped to knock him unconscious when I smacked him with the boots, but the man has a head as hard as a stone wall.”

  “But why must you bedevil him so?”

  Harmony set herself on fire and burned a large black hole on the wall above the mantel. “Because ’tis what I do, sister,” she said when she’d ceased to blaze. “I sow fear and gloom, and you sprinkle kindness, generosity, joy, and all that other sort of rot.”

  “Will you help me learn how to become angry?”

  “Nay.”

  “But why?”

  “Because I don’t like helping. I’d rather be the reason why one needs help.”

  Splendor realized she was getting nowhere, and decided to try another tactic. “Very well, sister, I shall endeavor to find someone else to teach me the art of fury. It pains me to have to do so, for I know full well that there is no one on the face of our dear Mother Earth who understands and demonstrates rage as skillfully as you.”

  Harmony ran her hand down her long, golden hair. “I am rather marvelous at it.”

  “Supremely so.”

  “No one can fly into a faster fit than I.”

  “No one,” Splendor agreed, suppressing a smile. “And such impressive fits they are, too, Harmony. Why, if I learn to fly into fits even half as well as you, I shall be satisfied.” She rose from the stool and glided toward the door. “I must be on my way, sister. ’Twill take me a while to find someone given to frequent bouts of anger. Adieu.”

  �
��Wait,” Harmony called. “I suppose I could teach you a few of my tricks. Not all of them, mind you, but a few.”

  Triumph soared through Splendor like a bright star shooting through a midnight sky. “And may we begin today? Now?”

  “The sooner, the better. Your sickening sweetness ’twill take days and days to sour. Now, if the Trinity were to shout at you and then throw a rock at your head, what would you do?”

  “I would dodge the rock and then tell him not to throw any more at me.”

  Harmony rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe what a ninny you are. Nay, Splendor, you would catch the rock, throw it back at him, and hit him right between the eyes. You would shout a terrible name at him, and then you would turn him into a slime-trailing slug. A lovely touch then would be to put your heel over him and threaten to smash him into a glob.”

  “But—”

  “You could change him back into a man after he’s learned his lesson.”

  “Very well, Harmony, but how do I summon the anger necessary to perform such a ghastly deed?”

  Harmony pointed to a spot in the air and flicked a bit of stardust from her finger. Instantly the spot in the air became a tiny spark. “Think fire. The Trinity shouts at you or does something equally stupid, and a tiny spark ignites inside you. The longer and louder he shouts, the bigger and hotter the spark becomes, until finally…”

  Splendor watched the small spark in the air become a huge ball of twisting red-hot fire.

  “That’s anger, Splendor. That’s what it feels like. Like fire, and then it bursts from inside you. You strike out, like a hungry flame about to devour a dry and brittle leaf.”

  Splendor watched in horror while the fireball swept around the room, setting ablaze everything in its path. Flames seared the thick carpet, consumed furniture, licked up the draperies, and swallowed up Jourdian’s bed. “Sweet everlasting, Harmony, stop!”

  Waltzing through the walls of fire, Harmony glared at her sister. “You certainly know how to spoil all the fun, don’t you, Splendor?” Frowning, she waved her hand upward, and a thick sheet of stars and rain fell from the ceiling, dousing all the fire and returning every burned thing back to its original immaculate state.