He shrugged. “Not quite. It can get messy. Midsummer Knights are one-woman-men. Faithful unto death. There have been odd cases in the past when a woman sent one packing and he tried to kill himself.”
Kendra stared at him, aghast. “Niall didn’t tell me that.”
“Niall doesn’t know that little detail. He’s a Christmas elf, so his manifestation is cheeky, merry...”
“Childlike?”
“No, sexy as hell. One sniff of a gorgeous lady with a wish and he’s—”
“TMI!” said Kendra in a hurry.
“No, no; you needn’t worry about your cousin. Once he’s bedded her and she’s playing for keeps, he’s hers for life.” He frowned. “Midsummer Knights are about death-before-dishonour. You obviously didn’t send Sir Piers packing—thanks for that—but if he imprinted on you, things might get awkward next year.”
“This is so not my fault,” said Kendra. “No one told me any of this. Niall just laughed and Frances said to go for it. Let me get this straight. If I had told him he was unworthy he’d have gone and maybe killed himself. Because I didn’t, he might have imprinted on me and he’ll be stalking me next year.”
“Hm,” he agreed. “That’s about the size of it. Sorry. You might have done better with an elf, or the Easter Bunny—”
“I hope you’re not married,” interrupted Kendra, having had another horrible thought. “He said he wasn’t, but I don’t want your wife or girlfriend gunning for me.”
“I’m single. Long-term relationships aren’t easy for fairies. If I had a girl who loved me she’d probably dump me if Sir Piers started mooning over her. And if one fell for Sir Piers she’d find me a cold bucket of water.” He oriented on her again and pointed at her. “As you do, right?”
“No.” Her cheeks felt hot again but she wanted to get out of this mess. “I didn’t fall for Sir Piers. He was sweet, and devoted and said he’d be mine forever, but it was too much to live up to.” She pushed her fingers through her hair. “Sometimes a man ought to smell of good honest sweat and leave the toilet seat up.”
“You fucked him though.”
She glowered at him.
“Come on. You were straddling me when I surfaced.”
“I was trying to get him to man up and stop laying guilt trips on me.”
“You did fuck him though. Oh, you so did.”
“Okay,” she admitted. “Twice.”
An eyebrow shot up. “Only twice?”
“We only had two or three hours.”
There was a pause. He clasped his hands behind his head, doing impressive things to his chest muscles. “How was he?”
“Okay,” said Kendra.
“Oi! Only okay?”
“You want the truth?”
“I can take it.”
“He was fabulous. He took me places I’ve never been. I spun out. The earth moved. I screamed. Is that what you wanted to know?”
Piers whistled. “The bad news is, if you screamed, he probably did imprint on you. Not that I blame him. He might be a soppy git but he has good taste.”
Kendra ground her teeth. Then she said, “Is there anything we can do to fix this? I don’t want him stalking me, or jumping off a cliff and taking you with him.”
“God no.” He whistled some more. “Look—um?”
“Kendra.”
“Kendra. I’m here for six months, with an option to extend. How would you feel about spending some time with me? We might be compatible and it would solve a lot of problems.”
“If you think I’m going to jump into bed with a stranger just like that!” She broke off abruptly.
“Quite right,” he said. “You already did jump into bed with one. It’s absolutely not your fault though. You can blame the glamour. That’s fairy dust. Illusion.”
“I know what glamour is,” she said. “I’m a researcher.”
“Then you’ll know glamour is not easy to penetrate. You did very well to snap out of it, and to snap me out of it to boot. So, what about it? Shall we see some more of one another and see how it goes?”
Kendra thought about it. “I live in Brisbane... but I travel a lot.”
“I have a month’s work in Brisbane.”
“We could go for a pizza, I suppose.”
“You might sound a bit more enthusiastic.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you’d seen my what’shisnames,” she said.
“I sort of did. Before you got that shirt on.”
“Not those.” She gave a reluctant smile and looked down to the floor. “The armour’s gone. Curlicued helmet and all. Have you got any clothes or do you want to borrow something of Niall’s?”
“I have some clothes somewhere,” he said. “I would have left them wherever I was when you made your wish. What did you wish for, exactly?”
“I said I wished I had the sort of luck Frances got.”
“And that attracted the nearest fairy, who happened to be me.” He patted the bed. “It’s late, and I’m tired. Is it all right with you if I sleep here? After all, I haven’t got anything you didn’t already see.”
“This is my bed.”
“I can go and find a couch if you prefer. Or a motel.”
She looked into his face. It was not quite the face of Sir Piers, being blunter and less noble about the brow, but it was a good face. It shone with intelligence and humour.
She tugged the light-pull, plunging the room into darkness. Shivering as the last vestige of summer seeped past the curtains, she lifted the edge of the quilt and slid underneath.
The mattress flexed as Piers hitched down the bed and rolled over.
“Goodnight,” said Kendra. “Stay on your side.”
He laughed. “I will if you do. I am a bit jetlagged, but feel free to deliver a kick if necessary.”
“If you hear a yowl in the night, it’s just the cats.”
“I like cats. And dogs. Goodnight.”
She woke once as grey dawn stole through the thickness of the curtains. A warm body lay quietly beside her and she reached out to touch his shoulder.
Piers rolled over and put his arms around her, nuzzling her neck. “Mmm.”
It felt wonderful. Kendra smelled roses and hay and stiffened. “Piers?”
“Hmm? What? Hey—you didn’t stay on your side of the bed.”
“Neither did you.”
He kissed the back of her neck, and tickled the underside of a breast. “This is nice,” he said drowsily.
It was. She relaxed and went back to sleep.
The next time she woke, it was because something cool had brushed her lips. She murmured and turned her head, but the cool touch came again.
“Wha’?” She sat up, blinking as Piers Le Fay came into focus, holding an improbably small strawberry in one hand and a fine china bowl in the other. It was Piers Le Fay, and not Sir Piers of the Summer Court.
“Not a morning person, then,” he observed. He withdrew the strawberry and popped it into his mouth.
Kendra frowned. “That was mine.”
“You rejected it.”
“Gimme.” She held out her hand, and he gave her the bowl with a grin. “Ooh, strawberries and cream!” She picked up the spoon and tucked in with a moan of pleasure. She’d almost finished when something occurred to her.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, stealing a leftover strawberry.
“This.” She indicated the bowl. “You never got these strawberries from the market. Not at this time of year.”
“How do you know?”
“They’re far too small and sweet to be a commercial crop and I don’t recognise the variety.”
“Sprung,” he said without obvious concern. “They’re from my garden.”
“Your garden in England?”
“Not in England, no. I nipped over there and got them from my garden near the court. The cream came from one of the palace cows. I bribed a milkmaid. Mary the Dair
y Fairy, I call her.”
“You’re drunk?”
“No, but the party’s still raging.”
Kendra digested this confession along with her breakfast. “And now, having eaten the fruit of Fairyland, I’m bound in some way?” she suggested. She waited a beat and raised her hand. “I’m guessing no. You just fancied strawberries and went to get us some.”
His smile widened. “It’s my favourite thing to eat.”
“Mine too. We are compatible. You do know you’re still naked.”
“Naked is not a problem over there. Anyway...” He moved his shoulders and Kendra gawked as he was abruptly clothed in old jeans and a crimson shirt.
Her stomach fluttered, and she scooped up the last of her treat. She could get used to this. In fact—the thought of not having the chance to get used to this was not to be borne. “Do you have to go to that festival?”
“No. I have an urge to indulge in pet-sitting instead.” He took the bowl and set it aside. “Come here, gorgeous.” He leaned down to scoop her into his arms. “Mmm, strawberries. More appropriate than pizza, don’t you think?”
Kendra tucked her head against his shoulder. She felt absurdly happy. She and Frances were back in the same romantic boat.
About the Author
Lark Westerly loves chocolate, kittens, velvet, roses and pear cider. She wanders along beaches, climbs Tasmanian hills and stares dreamily at the clouds.
In another life, she is a wife, mother and grandmother who walks dogs, writes children’s books, assesses and edits manuscripts and gets lost on a regular basis. To read about Lark’s stories, go to http://larksinger.weebly.com
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