Her Home Run Desires

by Payne, Jenna

  Maisie very gingerly pushed herself up until she was sitting, leaning back against the headboard. It seemed like there wasn't an inch of her that didn't hurt, but a quick glance over the side of the bed revealed her satchel, complete with her food, shoes and knife, and she was still fully clothed. Her memory was a blur, and trying to think only succeeded in making her head ache more. She remembered eating, and then exploring, and then nothing but a whirl of colors and the utter darkness that followed.

  She pushed back the blanket and tried to stand, but her ankle wouldn't support her weight. With a sharp gasp and a wince, she fell back onto the bed and carefully bent her leg to prod at the bandaging she found. She could barely rotate it, and standing on it was obviously out of the question unless she could find something to bear her weight. She was looking for anything that would do as a makeshift crutch when the sound of heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor leading to the cavern turned bedroom.

  Maisie froze. She couldn't run, but there was nowhere to hide either. She lay back down in the bed and pulled the blankets back over her hips and did her best to look like she was asleep, despite the frantic pounding of her heart. The steps carried too much weight to be a woman. And how would a woman have dragged her to... wherever she was? No, it had to be a man.

  Her suspicions were confirmed a moment later when she heard a heavy, distinctly male sigh coming from very close to the bed. Maisie didn't dare risk cracking an eye open to look. It was enough of a struggle to keep her face relaxed. The hand she felt on her brow just after was gentle, despite the roughness of the man's skin. Maisie thanked God that she didn't flinch at his touch. It seemed like he was feeling for a fever, and when he didn't find one, wet a cloth and pressed it to her brow and the cut just under her hairline. It was oddly soothing, even if it did intensify the pain. The man smoothed her hair back from her head and then his touch vanished.

  Maisie waited, her ears perked for any sign of him leaving, ready to attempt an escape once the coast was clear, but her exhaustion was too great and she lacked the energy to move, and soon fell back into a dreamless sleep. When she woke again it was moonlight shining through the hole in the roof of the cavern, not the sun. Panic set in immediately. She had been gone too long. It was far past sundown. Her father, her brother, they would-she needed to- she sat up so abruptly that her head spun.

  “Careful,” a strange voice said, deep and soft, from nearby. “Yer head took quite a knock.”

  “Where am I?” Maisie asked. She opened her eyes but all she could see was darkness. “I cannae be here, I need t' return home.”

  “Yer nae goin' anywhere in this state,” the voice said, closer to her side. A light swam before her eyes and then a face came into view. Maisie instinctively shrank back. “I'm sorry. I mean ye no harm. I found ye by the creek and... ye were so pale, hardly breathing. I could nae simply leave ye lyin' there.”

  “Where am I?”

  “In a safe place,” the man said. “My name is Grant.” He set the candle down on the little table and pulled the chair over to the bedside. He looked at her expectantly. The only thing Maisie could truly make out in the dark was that he had dark hair.

  “Maisie,” she said. “What is this place?”

  “My home,” Grant said. He glanced away, his embarrassment plain. As Maisie's eyes adjusted, she could pick out more details. He was clean shaven and his hair fell just below his ears. His clothes looked simple, but there weren't any rips or tears that Maisie could see, but his plaid was not one that she recognized. The only thing truly queer about the entire situation was that the man lived in a cave. Was he some kind of criminal? Maisie scooted a bit farther away and eyed him warily.

  “What kind o' man lives in a cave?” she asked.

  “How's yer head?” Grant asked instead. “Do ye feel dizzy at all?”

  “No,” Maisie replied.

  “And yer ankle?” Grant asked. He gently lifted the blanket to inspect her foot, seeming un-bothered by the low light. “Ye turned it badly on tha' hill, but I dinnae feel any breaks.”

  “It hurts,” Maisie said.

  “Aye, it will,” Grant replied, “for a time. Ye need t' stay off it for it t' heal properly.”

  “Ye seem t' know much about these things.”

  “Aye,” Grant said again. He rolled her ankle gently. Maisie winced, but didn't pull away. The longer she spent in his company the more comfortable she grew. It was a slow process, but if he had anything untoward in mind surely he would have acted on his desires already, especially since she was hardly in any position to fight him off. The thought made her shoulders relax, if only a fraction.

  “My family will miss me,” she said. “They'll wonder where I am. They'll come looking for me.”

  “They willnae find ye,” Grant said, then looked like he immediately regretted his words. “I said tha' poorly,” he replied. “I meant t' say we're very well hidden away here. 'Twould be a trial for them t' find ye.”

  “I suppose I owe ye my thanks, then,” Maisie said carefully.

  “Think nothin' of it,” Grant replied.

  “How long must I remain here?”

  “'Til ye can walk.”

  It was the answer Maisie expected, but not the one she wanted. “I need t' send word t' my family,” she said. She didn't have to fake the desperation in her voice. “They'll think me dead.”

  “I have writing implements,” Grant replied, then looked over his shoulder and squinted into the darkness. “Somewhere.”

  Maisie felt her cheeks warm and was glad for the darkness to hide the flush. Why was she embarrassed? She was far from the only person in and around her village who had never learned her letters. She knew numbers, and could make a mark if needed, but she couldn't write her name, let alone a full message to her family to tell them she was alive and well, in a manner of speaking.

  Grant stood, leaving her side to search around the room for what Maisie assumed was ink and quill and a shred of parchment. Maisie watched his shape move around in the darkness. She knew she should speak, but her throat was tightly closed. Grant disappeared from her view.

  “I cannae write!” she said, suddenly and loudly, wincing at how her voice echoed off the walls of the cavern. In the silence that followed she heard far off drips of water, coming from somewhere down the corridor.

  “I can,” Grant replied softly. “Tell me what ye wish t' say and I shall write and deliver it.”

  “How can I trust that ye'll write what I say?” Maisie asked.

  Grant came back into her direct line of sight, his hands full. He settled in the chair with a soft sigh and moved the candle so that he had room to write.

  “Ye cannae,” he said. “What do ye wish for me t' say?”

  Maisie drew her knees up to her chest, careful of her ankle. Thinking of the village priest who would have to read it for her brother, she kept the message short. “To Father and Ramsay,” she started, “I am alive and well. I hurt myself wandering and shall return as soon as I am able. Please dinnae worry.” She paused and played with the ends of her dirty hair. “Why can ye nae jus' take me home?”

  “'Tis rough terrain,” Grant replied. “'Tis too difficult t' take ye over it without risk o' furthering yer injury.” The quill scratched softly. “I will escort ye, but nae until yer healed enough for it t' be safe. Do ye understand?”

  She didn't, but there was little she could do. “Aye,” she said softly.

  “Is there naught else ye wish t' say?” Grant asked.

  “Nay,” Maisie replied.

  Grant handed her the quill and Maisie automatically made her mark at the bottom of the parchment. “Sleep now,” Grant said. “I'll be back before dawn.”

  “What?” Maisie asked. She sat up straighter as Grant stood and made to leave. “It's pitch black outside. Ye dinnae even ken where my village is!”

  “Ye smell o' a blacksmith's fire,” Grant replied. “'Tis only one village nearby with a forge. I'll return.”

  “But-” M
aisie began, but Grant had already disappeared into the darkness. She huffed out a breath and sat back, crossing her arms over her chest. She could not stand and explore, even if she did trust her eyes in the dark. There was little she could do but listen to Grant's order and rest. It wasn't long before her eyes began to burn. She was determined to remain awake, but soon her head began to drop and her body grew heavy.

  *****

  She woke just before dawn. The candle had burned down, but when her eyes adjusted to the dark she could see the very start of the sunrise lighting the cavern. She sat up and stretched, not an inch of her body still not sore. Still, she needed to relieve herself, and there was a mighty thirst burning in her throat. Unfortunately, the water pitcher was too far for her to reach, and there was no chamber pot in sight.

  Maisie eased herself to her feet. Grant was right when he said she wouldn't be able to negotiate the terrain only being able to put her weight on one leg, but she would at least explore her surroundings while she had the chance. She lit a fresh candle and very carefully made her way to the water pitcher and basin next to it. It was slow going, and painful, but she managed, and felt far better once she had slaked her thirst and washed her face. She took care around the cut on her brow, as it was still tender to the touch. The chamber pot she found not long after and once she had taken care of her business and cleaned herself, she took her candle and moved towards the corridor leading from the room.

  She used one hand on the smooth wall to guide and support her, trying to keep as much weight off her bad ankle as she could. Had she chalk she would have made marks, but she was confident that even without a way to see where she had been she wouldn't get lost. The sound of water dripping came from somewhere to her right, but the echo made it difficult to tell its source. Maisie wasn't sure what she was looking for, but she found herself following the faint traces of sunlight she could see. The cave system seemed rather small, with only a few small rooms off the hall that were all but bare.

  When she finally came to a fork in the path she paused, looking for sunlight and feeling for a breeze, then turned to the left. The caverns seemed too uniform and deliberate to have been made over time, but what could have dug them out? The corridors and rooms both arched high above her head. Perhaps she was inside of a mountain. Perhaps faeries had carved out the rock. Perhaps she had been transported into another realm. Her stomach clenched. What did that make Grant? It was well known that faeries could take the shape of men. And they always wanted something in return for their aid.

  Suddenly she found herself searching for an exit, but what she found instead was a monstrous room, lit by dozens of holes in the roof, letting beams of weak sunlight shine down on more riches than Maisie had ever imagined existed in the whole world. There were coins of all shapes and sizes, goblets, plates, large chests filled with golden coins and rubies and emeralds and sapphires and other gems that Maisie couldn't put a name to. She stared with wide eyes at the treasure, completely ignorant of the hot wax that dripped down onto her hand. Where in God's name was she?

  “Ye should be resting,” Grant said from behind her. Maisie gasped and jumped, almost dropping the candle as she spun around to face her captor and savior. Grant caught her around the waist as her ankle gave out. She could see him clearer now, his bronze hair and green eyes, and the look of concern on his face. Her heart thudded painfully, and all of her thoughts raced from her head.

  “Ach!” Grant exclaimed and snatched the candle from her fingers, letting go of her waist to grab her hand. “Ye burned yerself.”

  Maisie watched mutely as he scraped the wax off her skin with his thumbnail and raised her hand to his mouth, brushing cool lips over the irritated flesh.

  “What is all of this?” she managed to ask.

  “Th' fruits o' my labor,” Grant replied. “I'll help ye back t' bed. Come.” Maisie looked back over her shoulder as he led her away from the room.

  “Are ye fae?” she blurted out. Grant didn't reply immediately. “Why do ye live in a cave? 'Tis damp and cold. Where did all tha' gold come from? Is it payment for granting people's wishes, or ransom for returning them t' their ilk?”

  “Tis neither,” Grant said firmly. “I delivered yer message, now I beg ye t' stay in bed until yer ankle is healed. Th' more ye rest th' sooner ye can return t' yer village.”

  “Ye are fae,” Maisie said accusingly. She struggled against Grant's grip but he was far too strong for her to wiggle free. She must have irritated him, though, for he let the candle fall from his grasp, the flame snuffing out as it rolled along the damp floor, and swung her up into his arms, holding her against his chest. His body was hot; like she was sitting next to a fire. He smelled of the freshness of rain and morning dew. Maisie found herself relaxing into his hold, despite the hands she had fisted in his shirt. He seemed to have no trouble seeing in the dark, or perhaps he had just lived down in the caves so long that he could move around them with his eyes closed.

  He took her back to the bedroom and laid her down on the blankets, feeling her head. “Yer warm,” he said. “Ye should have stayed in bed as I told ye.”

  “I'm fine,” Maisie said. She brushed Grants hands away. “I wish t' be home. Why cannae ye take me?”

  “I told ye already,” Grant said. He pulled the blankets up to her chin and sat in the chair with a heavy sigh, pushing both of his hands through his hair. “Please,” he said softly. “I only wan' t' help ye.”

  “By holding me hostage?” Maisie asked.

  “By keepin' ye safe,” Grant replied. “Worse people could have found ye.”

  He meant it. Maisie could tell from the look on his face and the sound of his voice. She felt her shoulders relax, a sense of safety falling over her. He wouldn't hurt her. He would keep his word. The feeling in her gut was strong.

  “Ye'll be healed soon,” Grant continued. “I promise.”

  Maisie sighed and let her eyes slide shut. She was tired, and her leg hurt all the more for walking on it. Perhaps it was best to listen to Grant. The man clearly knew what he was talking about, if he truly was a man. And if he was fae, then it was best not to cross him. She heard his sigh and the creak of the chair as he shifted. She thought of her family, and soon found herself drifting into an uneasy sleep.

  Her dreams were blurry and nonsensical, of dragons soaring over mountains and familiar green eyes. She woke feeling like her entire body was on fire, but shaking so violently that she groped for the furs that covered her. She felt a warm hand on her brow, smoothing her hair back from her face, and her body being shifted to the other side of the bed. A hot form slid in next to her, strong, solid arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her close. She snuggled into the heat, pressing her nose into a broad chest, into a shirt that smelled of fresh water and cool earth. She drifted in and out of consciousness, in and out of fevered dreams. She had no idea how much time passed. The only thing she was aware of was the constant warmth of a body next to hers, holding her tight, wiping sweat from her brow and humming something soft and familiar in her ear.

  Her fever finally broke, leaving her feeling exhausted. She stirred awake in the middle of the day, unsure how long she had been out, and snuggled into a firm, warm body lined up against the back of hers, one heavy arm slung over her waist and warm breath on the side of her neck. She shifted, pressing more firmly into the heat and hearing a soft grunt in response. The arm around her squeezed then lifted, a hand coming to rest on her brow.

  “Fever's broken,” Grant said in a rough voice behind her. “Good.”

  Maisie slowly cracked her eyes open and twisted so she could look over her shoulder. Grant was the one pressed against her, fully clothed, his green eyes bright in the shadows of the cavern.

  “Who are ye?” Maisie asked, her throat dry and her voice raspy. “Did ye send me those dreams? I know yer nae a man. Ye cannae be.”

  “Why nae?” Grant asked. “I look like a man, aye? I speak as one, move as one. I must be one.”

  “'Tis yer
eyes,” Maisie said weakly. “They glow.”

  “Yer ill,” Grant said. He sat up and carefully extracted himself from the bed to fetch Maisie a cup of water that she greedily drank down. “Ye dinnae ken what ye say.”

  “Ye live in a cave filled with treasure,” Maisie said. “Tell me what ye are. If yer fae I want naught t' do with ye.”

  “I am fae,” Grant almost shouted, scowling at her. “But nae any fae ye know.”

  Maisie stared up at him, and wondered why she wasn't frightened. “What are ye?”

  “I am th' monster of Loch Morar,” he said softly. “Th' one ye call Morag.”

  Maisie shook her head. “'Tis a myth. I want th' truth.”

  “Are nae th' fae a myth? 'Tis th' truth,” Grant replied. “'Tis nae my fault if ye dinnae believe.” He sat on the edge of the bed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I should nae have said anything.”

  “If ye are fae than prove it,” Maisie said.

  “Ye dinnae want me t' do that',” Grant said, fixing her with a loaded look.

  “And ye have no grounds t' tell me wha' I want.”

  “If that is the lady's wish,” Grant said slowly. He stood with a sigh and stripped off his shirt, revealing a well-muscled but scarred torso, then undid his breeches and dropped them as well, kicking off his boots. He stood with his back facing Maisie, giving her a proper eyeful of a very well rounded arse that made her face burn as hotly as if she still had a fever, and rolled his shoulders and neck. It was difficult to make out everything in the low light the sun shining through the hole provided, but Maisie could see enough. Grant's limbs extended and his skin rippled as the structure of his muscles changed. His arms became strong wings and his legs bent, toes extending into talons. What had once been a man was now something Maisie had only heard tell of in old stories. A scaly beast, with a great head and green eyes that had cat-like pupils, twice Maisie's height, he breathed heavily as he examined Maisie closely. A scream caught in her throat, held in only by the distinct humanity in the creature's eyes.