by Lily Silver
All drank to the doctor’s toast. Mrs. Dillon lifted her glass of sherry with a twinkle in her eyes. “And to the next generation of Dillons, may the nursery be full again.”
Adrian looked down at his plate at his mother’s remark. Tara found his discomfort amusing. Leave it to Mom to embarrass the groom. It was a tradition at weddings.
“Amen.” Reverend Willoughby agreed, either ignoring his host’s mortification or oblivious to it, Tara wasn’t certain which. The minister had enjoyed an ample volume of champagne that evening. “May the next generation of Dillons prosper.”
Tara lifted her glass with the rest, as did Adrian. He cast a look of bewilderment at her, as if questioning Tara as to the prospect of having a child together. His look, fraught with yearning, made her blood simmer. Oh, yes, Lord Dillon. Please do come to my bed, she wanted to say and thankfully had enough sense to merely think in his direction.
“I’m certain Adrian hasn’t mentioned that he is the last Dillon.” His mother continued. “If our illustrious family is to continue into the nineteenth century and beyond, we must have an heir.”
Tara giggled. The woman was drunk. Typical event at a bridal dinner. Everyone got drunk and made ridiculous speeches about the bride or groom. As was the dance afterward, complete with a DJ and plenty of flashing lights. Such things were impossible here. The thought frightened Tara momentarily as she gazed around the formal dining room that had grown strangely silent when moments before it had been overflowing with jubilant chatter.
A perverse silence reigned as Adrian glared at his mother. “If you cannot find anything appropriate to say at the dinner table, kindly keep your remarks to the weather, is that not what you told me as a lad?”
Fiona Dillon’s cheeks flared with color. The lady cleared her throat. “Pardon me, Dear Tara. I’m afraid I was overzealous in voicing my hopes for you and my son.”
“No problem.” Tara offered, only to find they all looked at her as if her words were strange. “I mean, I understand, Madame. No offense taken.” She corrected, finding herself at odds with their manner of speech and their reactions to her own.
Thankfully, the conversation continued between Adrian and their guests.
As the evening wore on, Tara was feeling the effects of the many toasts she been forced to partake in. The room became too warm. She was tired and slightly dizzy.
She didn’t want to excuse herself, as that might be taken as an invitation by the man at the head of the table. She wasn’t ready for it, for him. Not tonight. Not when she was feeling ill, lightheaded and slightly panicked about her peculiar situation.
Not when she hadn’t a clue as to if she were sexually experienced or a virgin. No lover’s face rose before her as she pondered the notion of her own sexuality, but that in itself was inconclusive. If she couldn’t remember her own parents, she would hardly remember any past lovers … would she?
And suppose she wasn’t a virgin? Would Adrian be upset? Would he toss her out in the cold, denounce her as a loose woman? Men in the eighteenth century were most exacting about such matters. They took a woman’s virtue, or lack of it, entirely too seriously. It might be best to tiptoe around the intimacy issue until she knew where she stood with him. With no money and no credit cards, she’d not get very far in rural Ireland, not in this century or even her own.
There it was again; that annoying, detached, historian’s voice in her head, narrating cold facts about this time period as if quoting it from a college textbook.
Where did she acquire this store of knowledge of eighteenth century life?
Why did she refer to it in her own mind as if the time period itself were a foreign entity? Why can’t I shut off this annoying internal monologue and just live my life?
Tara touched her temples with her fingertips and released a heavy sigh. She closed her eyes as strange visions danced in her memory. A box with sound and moving pictures … A red and white illuminated cabinet that dispensed cold red and white metal cylinders with swirling letters filled with a refreshing sweet liquid … a wizard of a man with long white hair and a goatee beard, clad with heavy black rimmed spectacles and plaid clothing, dancing about in a circle as he laughed with glee.
It was there, so close … so close; the answers to her questions. So close.
Her mind flooded with rapid fire images. Brilliant blue and white lights flashing, a voice shouting “Wait, don’t touch that—“ Followed by intense pain, and then darkness.
Tara emerged slowly from the sensation of darkness and cold as odd pinpricks of sensation moved through her limbs.
Her first impression was of Adrian holding her against his firm frame as he sat on his heels beside her chair.
Dr. Magnus was opposite him, studying her with a frightening intensity.
“My darling, what is it?” Adrian’s voice seemed higher than usual.
“I felt dizzy. I think it was the wine.”
Dr. Magnus nodded. “Tell me, do you often experience dizziness, Lady Dillon?”
“No.” Tara replied. “Only when I try to remember things.”
“There you have it, my lady. You cannot force the memories, you must let them emerge on their own.” The doctor’s kind face was comforting as he patted her hand.
He rose and regarded Adrian, his expression severe. “My lord, Lady Dillon is still recovering from her injuries and the shock of her ordeal. I think it wise to get her to bed immediately–To rest.”
Chapter Eight
Adrian escorted Tara upstairs. They didn’t speak as they moved down the long corridor to her room.
Once outside her door, Adrian seemed ready to abandon her. The awkwardness of the moment was upon them. They were married and both were feeling ill at ease. His response seemed to be typically male; ignore it, avoid it and it will go away.
Tara would have none of it. She would not live her life hiding behind an awkward silence. “Come inside.” She beckoned. “We need to talk.”
He frowned, resenting her attempt to clear the air. Tara stared at him, determined. Her firmness of mind seemed to register with Adrian. He nodded gravely and followed her into the room.
“Tara, I apologize for my mother’s crudity—I—cannot control her outbursts—”
“Seriously?” She returned, “It’s our wedding night, and you want to talk about your mother? I want to talk about us, about our physical relationship—“
Adrian’s eyes narrowed. He held up his hand in a command for silence. He was obviously accustomed to being obeyed by those about him. “’Tis unnecessary! I will respect the boundaries between our people. We are married in name only.”
“Like hell we are!” Tara shot back, crossing the room to stand directly in front of him. “I want to discuss this. Don’t dismiss me or deign to speak for me, Lord Dillon.” She gestured to the seat near the fire. “You might as well sit down, because I intend for you to listen to my thoughts on the subject before we go any further.”
Oh, he didn’t like being spoken to thus by a woman. The cold fury rising in his silvery eyes bespoke his resentment of her tone, as did the firm, tight line of his mouth.
“Please, just sit?” She softened the command into a request as she paced in front of him. There was only one chair, near the fireplace. She would rather he took it, so he wouldn’t just walk off if he didn’t like what she had to say. The only other place to sit was the bed. She wanted to avoid the bed, if possible, at least for tonight.
Adrian took the chair, and gazed up at her expectantly. “My lady?”
“We are strangers, from two different worlds.” Tara began. If he thought she was from another realm, well, then, she’d damn well speak like it if it would get him to pay attention. “And if we are to succeed in this hasty union, we need to set up some boundaries and discuss our expectations regarding what each of us hopes to gain from such an uneasy alliance.” Once her thoughts were out of her mouth, she puffed out her cheeks and huffed loudly. That was a mouthful, and not just the sheer verbia
ge of her statement, also the truth behind it.
“Agreed.” He shot to his feet. “You must sit, my dear. In either realm, it is unseemly for me to sit in your presence while you remain standing.”
Tara tried really hard not to laugh at his words. Was it the male in him, or the fact that he thought she was from a race of beings exalted above men? She sat down, slowly and regally, adjusting her skirts with care so as not to disabuse him of her imagined superiority as a member of the Fey. “You may begin. Explain your intentions and expectations from this union.”
Adrian did not flinch at her commanding tone. He adapted quickly, emulating a respectful mien as if he were addressing true royalty. “I needed a wife. The Tuath an Danaan sent me you. Now that I am married I cannot be blackmailed into a union with my enemy’s offspring. Agreeing to such a union would mean my life, my lady. My enemy would use his daughter to spy upon me. I would be judged a traitor to the crown of England, and my enemy would see me hanged for treason while his daughter inherited my family lands. That was his design all along. With you here, that will not happen. You are my protection. Understand this, dear Tara, I am grateful to you and to your people for your sacrifice. I will do anything you ask of me in return for such service.”
Tara didn’t understand. She didn’t really care about all that political intrigue. The only thing she truly cared to find out was what their relationship would be as man and wife. “Anything except make love with me, is that it?”
Adrian’s face flushed with color. “It would be sacrilege for me to expect you to lie with me as my wife. Your race is but a little lower than the angels.”
Tara was flattered. He truly thought she was above him? That gave the reluctant kiss today a whole new meaning. “Is that why you didn’t want to kiss me earlier?”
He nodded, and continued to stare at her as if she truly had wings and a halo. “I didn’t want to offend you or your race by appearing too bold after the honor you have bestowed upon me. I did not expect the Reverend to be so bold in declaring we should kiss in front of the witnesses. I apologize for the oversight.”
“Oh, don’t!” Tara was quick to protest. Really, this dude was acting like she was a goddess or something. While it was cute, it really wasn’t sexy, not in real life. If they were to be husband and wife, she wanted them on equal footing, with neither beneath the other one. “Don’t apologize, Adrian. I wanted you to kiss me.” Tara smiled warmly at her handsome devotee. His eyes widened with first surprise and then pleasure.
Okay, so a little goddess worship once and awhile was nice, just a touch, mind you, like Westley when he said those three little words to Buttercup in The Princess Bride; “As you wish.” Every woman wanted that kind of devotion from her man. And yet, she could not, in good conscience, allow Adrian to become her slave, intellectually—or otherwise.
“And I want us to be together as lovers, eventually.” She added. “It would be a shame to waste—” She bit her tongue, ashamed by what her words were about to be. Fairy Queen or not, she was not going to reduce him to a sexual object for her pleasure.
A giggle sprang forth as she realized the irony of her thinking. If the shoe were on the other foot, she had no doubt that the man before her would do just that. She arched a brow at him. Perhaps he did, in his mind, and was just too careful to reveal it.
He was smiling, truly grinning from deep within. Yes, he was pleased by her words. Still, he remained the cautious sycophant. Adrian made a graceful bow to her. “You are generous, my lady. It is well known that at certain seasons of the year, the Fairy Queens make great efforts to carry off the fine stalwart young men of the country to the fairy palace in the cleft of the hills, or they emerge from the hills to take a mortal lover. I would be honored to become your mortal lover.”
“Yes, well …” Tara blushed and placed her hand over her heart, deep moved by his innate respectfulness towards her. Men in her world didn’t behave like this. Quite the contrary. This was refreshing. It reminded her of stories of knights of old worshipping a noble lady from afar, knowing deep in their hearts she was above their station. “We will not rush into it. I’m not ready for such a commitment, but know that I desire it greatly.”
Oh boy, where was this coming from. She felt as if she were an actor in a play, quoting lines from Shakespeare or something.
Adrian nodded, his eyes aglow with pleasure.
As Tara watched him, she didn’t regret her words or her decision. Yes, if she was to be his wife, she wanted the whole package, the whole delicious package that was Lord Adrian Dillon. Just looking at him as he gazed at her with such longing made her feel hot and giddy with excitement. “Tell me more … about the Fairy Queens and their quest for mortal lovers.” She said, surprised by her breathless whisper.
Adrian stepped to the fireplace, giving her his back for a second before turning around with his palms together, appearing as bard about to deliver a line. “The legend goes like this. ‘At certain seasons of the year, Fairy Queens make Great Efforts to carry off the fine stalwart young men of the country to the fairy palace in the cleft of the hills. Or they attempt to lure them to their dancing grounds, where the men are lulled into dreams by the sweet, subtle fairy music and forget home, kith and kindred, and never desire to return again to their own people. Even if the spell is broken and they are brought back by some strong incantation, they are never the same; for everyone knows by the dream look in their eyes that they have danced with the fairies on the hill, and been loved by one of the beautiful race, who, when they take a fancy to a handsome mortal lover, cast their spells over him with restless power.’”
Tara sat, with her hands steepled together, silent with reverence as she savored the imagery of the sweet legend. “That is beautiful.” She said at last, deeply moved by the lyrical speech.
“Aye.” Adrian agreed. “So you see, that is why I am ever mindful of your station. If we become lovers, I know I will be forever changed, yet I am willing to embrace that change as I know it is an honor to be selected by one of your kind.”
Swoon alert. Tara took a deep, gulping, steadying breath. This dude had a magic all his own. His incredible looks, combined with his lilting, lyrical speech had a potency as it moved over her senses with restless power. She gazed at him, gazed deeply into those mystical gray eyes, and sighed.
“May I kiss you goodnight, my fairy bride? Or would that be too bold from one such as I?”
Tara groaned. Right now, she wanted a lot more than a kiss. She was resolved to take this next step slowly, not rush into sex before she had time to figure out if she really wanted to be with the guy ever after or not. Sex just messed things up in a relationship. If Adrian was willing to curb his lusts for a few weeks, then she’d bide her time and get to know him before she jumped his bones.
“Yes, a kiss to seal the bargain.” She murmured, once more not sure where she was channeling these awesome lines from. “And make it count this time, Lord Dillon. I’m not your sister.” She challenged boldly. This was fun, wielding the power for once.
Adrian did something truly bizarre; he came to her and knelt before her chair, like a knight of old before his Queen. He reached up reverently and caressed her cheek.
Tara remained perfectly still, like a deer in the headlights—or rather—a pair of very bewitching silvery eyes. He leaned in, and their lips met. This time, she closed her eyes and gave in to his sweet offering. This time, Adrian did not restrain himself. His mouth captured hers with a sizzling possessiveness that challenged and pleased her.
Tara kissed him back, meeting his challenge with determination. Their tongues met, and mated. His tongue artfully teased and caressed her own, sliding, gliding, twining and embracing it, making her insides expand and her heart soar to the beamed ceiling. She slid her hands along his back to his neck to caress the long tendrils of deep ebony imprisoned there. Her fingers fumbled and twisted until she released his soft hair from the retraining queue, allowing his glorious mane to flow unhindered into her wa
iting hands. His hair was a beautiful, living thing. She’d yearned to touch it, to caress it and feel the weight of it between her fingers.
At last, he drew away, leaving her lips moist and aching from his caress. He was panting, a little. His eyes had that hooded look she knew well, a look that betrayed his own potent arousal. Would he leave her this night, or beguile her further until she was lying beneath him on the bed beyond?
“Good night, sweet lady. Pleasant dreams.” He whispered in a roughened timbre.
“Good night.” Tara murmured, gazing up at him with longing as he stood.
His footsteps echoed on the flagstones as he reached the edge of the carpet. The sound of the door closing behind him signaled his retreat.
Tara sat gripping the arms of the chair with tense fingers. She was panting, more than a little now that he was gone and there was no need to conceal her own arousal. She gazed into the crackling, flickering flames, imagining the the kiss had not ended. Imagining where it would take them. Imagining him, naked and magnificent in her arms. There were muscles beneath those fancy clothes. Hard muscles. Adrian Dillon was no lazy, indulged, paunchy aristocrat. He was solid man beneath his dove grey velvet suit.
“Damn.” Tara swore aloud as she just thought of one more device they didn’t have in this realm; a vibrator.
Tara watched the firelight as it cast eerie shadows around her new room. The day after the wedding, Adrian insisted on moving her into a more luxurious suite befitting her station as Lady Dillon. Her prior room had been a guest room, he explained, and thus, it was rather austere and Spartan in furnishings. She hadn’t minded the simplicity, before she saw the ornate luxury that was to be gained in the exchange.
It was a tad overly feminine, as taste went, yet, as the days progressed she was coming to appreciate the lovely rose and ivory furnishings amid the rosewood paneling. She also liked the fact that all she had to do was pull the bell pull near the bed and a servant would appear to do her bidding. She could order food, a bath, or just summon a maid to keep her company. It was cozy sitting by the warm fire with a writing kit on her lap as she wrote down her impressions of this new life and lingering questions about her old one.
