Wildest Dreams

by Kristen Ashley

  “Yes, I did,” he agreed.

  “Part of our deal was, you wouldn’t do that.”

  “No… Finnie, part of our deal was I wouldn’t toss you on a horse. I didn’t toss you on a horse. I pulled you onto a horse.”

  “That’s a technicality,” I declared.

  “A what?” he asked.

  I didn’t explain, instead I stated, “I think you knew what I meant.”

  “And I think, when you’re making a deal, you may wish to be more clear in your demands and your expectations,” he returned.

  Well, it could be said he was not wrong.

  I made a mental note to do just that.

  We rode through the frozen forest and it didn’t take long for me to come to the understanding that I liked this better, riding with Frey. I could pay more attention to the beauty that was around me (even if it was mostly streaming by) and not where I was going. And he was warm and solid behind me and any warmth in Lunwyn, I had learned, should not only be made use of but treasured. It was a lazy way to go but it was definitely the better way to go.

  Hmm.

  I decided not to focus on that and instead, learn about my husband.

  Therefore, I set about doing that.

  “So,” I began, “uh… where have you been the last six weeks?”

  “At sea,” he answered readily.

  My brows went up but I kept my eyes on the vista before me. “That whole time?”

  “That whole time,” he replied then went on, “or the part of it we weren’t in Middleland.”

  I twisted my neck to look at him and got an eyeful of strong jaw and masculine throat. Attractive strong jaw and appealing masculine throat.

  That was when I looked back forward.

  “What were you doing in Middleland?”

  “One of my men had an errand to run.”

  Interesting.

  “What was the errand?” I asked.

  Frey did not answer.

  Hmm. Interesting.

  “Was your errand successfully run?” I queried.

  “Yes.”

  Not informative but at least an answer.

  “Um… how many men do you have?”

  “Many.”

  Again not informative but at least an answer.

  “Are we talking ‘many’ as in ‘more than ten’ or ‘many’ as in ‘more than five hundred’?” I attempted to clarify.

  “Somewhere in between,” Frey clearly didn’t feel like clarifying.

  I was not deterred

  “So, are you often at sea?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you going back soon?”

  I asked this because I wanted to go with him when he went though I wasn’t going to tell him that then. I just wanted to know how much time I had to convince him to take me.

  He didn’t know this and thus read my question wrong. I knew this not only from his next words but an arm that got very tight at my belly.

  “I’m just home, wife, and you wish to be rid of me?”

  “That’s not what I meant,” I kinda semi-wheezed, he heard it and his arm relaxed.

  “If not, then tell me what you meant,” he ordered and I knew I couldn’t say I wanted to go with him, not yet.

  So I said softly, “I’m just trying to get to know you, Frey. You aren’t a font of information, telling me your favorite color and pouring forth your heartfelt desires. I didn’t mean anything except to ask about you.”

  “I don’t have a favorite color,” he replied, “and my desires, at the moment, though I would not describe them as heartfelt, but felt somewhere else, all revolve around what I shall do when I first bed my new wife. Would you like to talk about that?”

  Ho boy.

  “Um…” I swallowed, “no.”

  He shifted then muttered over my head, “I did not think so.”

  Okay, so, that went well. Kind of. I learned a few things about my husband. Since I did, I decided that I could take a break and stop talking to Frey.

  We made it into town and I refused to think about the fact that the last time I was here I was carted out of a pub by my just returned from sea husband. Instead, I acted business as usual, smiling, waving and calling out greetings to people I knew. Luckily, they did the same (with glances at Frey, of course, who did not call out greetings, wave and, I couldn’t see him, but I was pretty certain he did not smile) and he stopped us outside the market.

  He dismounted then, with hands at my waist, I came down too.

  Then he did something sweet, something unexpected, something I didn’t think he had in him even after stoking the fire and saying he liked my pancakes.

  His big hand enveloped mine and he walked me to the market while holding my hand.

  Shit. I liked that. That was nice.

  Hmm.

  We walked in and I called out to Maria, “Hi Maria! It’s Finnie! I’ve come to get some groceries!”

  She was in the back room and yelled in return, “Greetings, Princess Finnie! I’ll be out in two moments. We’ve had some green beans come in!”

  Freaking cool!

  Fresh veg, I had also learned in Lunwyn, was to be treasured.

  Green beans just got jotted on the menu.

  “I want some of those!” I yelled.

  “They’re yours!” she yelled back.

  “This pleases me,” Frey muttered and I stopped wandering through the store shouting and looked up at him.

  “What?”

  He was looking toward the back room but at my question, his chin dipped down and his active, assessing and, indeed, pleased-looking brown-green eyes came to me.

  “You have your mother’s grace, something I never noticed before. But you do not have her manner. She is refined but cold. You…” he looked to the back room then at me, “are not.”

  I wasn’t certain but I thought that was nice.

  “Thanks,” I whispered, kinda embarrassed.

  He tugged me through the store, continuing to mutter, “You can teach this to our daughters, if we have them.”

  Oh shit.

  Another item for the grocery list: see if they had a condom section (though I held no high hopes for that). And another topic for discussion at dinner: birth control (though I held no high hopes for that either).

  Shit.

  Frey let my hand go and I started to pile stuff in my basket making a mental note of what we needed to get at the butcher and the baker.

  Unfortunately while I did this, Frey felt talkative and with what he felt like talking about, I decided I preferred him taciturn.

  “It is well-known your father, not having a son, did all the things with you that he would do with his son. He taught you archery, swordplay and you went hunting with him from when you were wee. Our daughters will not do these things.”

  I clenched my teeth after his declaration, not wanting to think of “our daughters” which was something I hoped we didn’t create while I was on my adventure.

  I grabbed a jug of golden syrup and decided to whisper, “Okay.”

  “It is also well-known that he kept your mother and you close to his side during all his travels and business, by land and by sea. This, I will consider doing.”

  I looked up at him and froze.

  I did this because, first, my Dad in this world sounded a lot like my Dad in my world. He liked me close and he never went anywhere without Mom and, most of the time, me. I had tutors when I was young and I was only not with them when they died because we’d been around the world and back again so many times, they decided I needed to have some normalcy in my life and make some friends and they’d enrolled me in boarding school. Second, I did this because I was super happy he was already considering taking me with him.

  “Really?” I whispered and his eyes moved over my face before locking on mine.

  “I see this idea pleases you,” he noted.

  I nodded.

  “Good,” he muttered then looked to Maria who had walked into the shop from the back r
oom.

  I grinned at the nuts.

  Then I looked up at him and asked, “Do you like pecans?”

  Frey looked down at me and asked back, “What?”

  “Pecans, nuts. I’m really good at pecan pie and I’m going to make one for us tonight. But if you don’t –”

  He interrupted me. “I like pecans, Finnie.”

  Boy, I liked it when he called me Finnie.

  In fact, I liked that there were things to like about Frey Drakkar and I was noticing there were a number of things to like.

  Therefore, I grinned at him, “See, we’re getting to know each other already. This is working out great.”

  He didn’t answer verbally. Nope, he didn’t.

  He did better than that.

  His eyes dropped to my mouth, his big hand lifted to cup my jaw and his calloused thumb slid lightly across my curved lower lip.

  This felt good. So good, my belly dipped and my breasts swelled again.

  Yes, his touch could be light. Very light. And very sweet.

  Ho boy.

  I noticed his gaze had lifted to my eyes and then I knew those eyes were hazy from his surprisingly sweet touch when he bent so his face was close to my own.

  “I very much like the curve of your mouth, wife,” he whispered, the nipples in my swelling breast started tingling and my body swayed slightly closer to him as if he had some invisible pull and it was reeling me in. “I also like to watch it move, to hear it speak words of teasing or jest, or just any words at all.”

  Oh man, that was sweet too.

  He got even closer and kept whispering, “I wonder what else it can do that I will like.”

  Now that wasn’t sweet, that was hot.

  “Um…” I mumbled for no reason whatsoever and when I did, I watched his eyes go sexy lazy at the same time they smiled.

  It was a good look. No, it was the best look I’d ever seen. On him or any man.

  Uh.

  Wow.

  I was about to do something, I didn’t know what, maybe throw myself at him or toss the basket aside and demand he take me home immediately, strip me naked and do as he pleased when his thumb slid back across my lower lip and he straightened.

  “Your pecans, wife, my pie,” he murmured, I blinked then my body jerked and I pulled myself together.

  “Right, pecans, pie, uh… dinner,” I muttered and turned to the nuts thinking maybe this adventure was going to be a lot better than I ever imagined.

  Maybe even beyond my wildest dreams.

  * * * * *

  I spent the afternoon baking and cooking (and letting Penelope in and out a gazillion times). Frey spent the afternoon lugging logs in to replenish the supplies by the fires as well as reloading the back porch. Then he set about chopping more.

  I was seeing it was good having a husband around because in my six weeks there, I’d already gone through the stash on the back porch and spent an hour of back and forth to the shed restocking it. This meant the supply in the shed was half gone and I’d been getting worried. To keep warm and cook, you went through a hell of a lot of wood. I wasn’t looking forward to another hour of back and forth, my favorite chore wasn’t lugging wood into the house and I was pretty pleased I’d done well roughing it but was not hankering to hone my currently nonexistent skill with an axe by chopping down trees.

  With Frey there, I didn’t have to worry about any of this.

  Bonus.

  The bigger bonus was, even in the frigid temperatures, evidently chopping wood was hard work because Frey took off his sweater to do it and he did it at a stump that was clearly visible from the kitchen windows.

  Watching this, I could see why my husband was seriously buff.

  Watching this, I could also get distracted from cooking (and did).

  So I stopped watching.

  I went all out, using the china, silver and crystal in my trunks for the first time. It looked kinda silly on a farm table but this was our first dinner as husband and wife, this was our first dinner ever (for me) and this was our pre-consummation dinner so I wanted to make it an occasion and nothing said occasion like delicate china, heavy silver and elegant crystal, even in a rustic cabin.

  So I used it.

  I roasted a piece of beef, somehow pulled off potatoes dauphenois and boiled green beans which I was serving with fresh bread from the bakery and, after, my homemade pecan pie with cream for dessert. I called out to Frey at his stump (by this time, the sun was long gone so he was chopping in the totally frigid, totally dark evening and doing it by torchlight) twenty minutes before I reckoned it would be done, he quit ten minutes later and came to the table washed.

  That was good.

  He sat at the table and scooped out food on his plate without really noticing (and definitely not commenting on) the obvious effort I’d made.

  That was bad.

  When he was about to commence eating, I asked quietly, “Can you open the wine?”

  That was when he looked at me, he looked at the table, half of his mouth hitched up for a millisecond then he got up and opened the wine we bought in town. Then he poured it. Then he sat down and commenced eating.

  I started eating too and was pretty pleased with the results. The potatoes were burnt a little on the top but the roast was done to perfection, nice and brown on the outside, nice and pink on the inside.

  Frey made light work of it and, even after tasting it, didn’t say a word.

  This was bad too.

  Or, perhaps, chopping wood gave you an appetite.

  I decided to think of it that way.

  He had refilled his glass of wine (and topped up mine) and was reaching for seconds when I decided conversation was in order.

  And I also decided what we were talking about.

  And I’d also spent a great deal of time while baking and cooking deciding how I was going to talk about it.

  “Uh… Frey?” I called.

  He showed me he’d heard and was listening by looking at me.

  “Can we talk about something important?” I asked.

  He stopped cutting into a slice of meat and gave me his full attention. “And what’s important to you, wife?”

  “Um…” I started and stopped.

  Frey put his silverware on his plate and aimed a minor scowl at me. It wasn’t terrifying but it wasn’t his best look either.

  “I have manhandled you,” he made this surprising and maybe a little weird admission then went on to explain why he did it, “but I have never hurt you. This…” he paused, “hesitancy in speaking to me has not been earned.”

  Well, it was interesting he thought that, but…

  “And,” he continued, “it’s beginning to be trying.”

  “I –” I started but he kept talking.

  “Indeed, what you said this morning, I will agree with for it is visibly obvious. I am a big man and you are not a big woman. But I have never given you cause to think I’d do you harm.”

  That was interesting he thought that too. And not entirely true.

  “So,” he concluded, “it would please me greatly if you would stop with your ‘uhs’ and ‘ums’ and just say what’s on your mind.”

  “Okay,” I returned swiftly, mainly because, after having spent hours cooking, making dessert and setting it all out nicely, as well as deliberating on how I was going to say what I needed to say, only for him to hijack the conversation and be a dick about it, I was suddenly wicked ticked off. “What was on my mind was that I was going to tell you I liked you.”

  Frey did a slow blink, showing surprise, but I didn’t care. That was just how wicked ticked off I was.

  “Now,” I carried on, “I’m thinking… not so much.”

  “Finnie –” he started but this time, I cut him off.

  And I did it by throwing out my hand holding my fork then going right back to cutting my beef (though I did it this time more like hacking) all the while talking.

  “You have my leave to call me Sjofn. I’m t
hinking, now, I prefer that from you, a man who tosses me around and leaves me in a filthy house after driving ever onward through the freezing cold countryside,” I speared my meat with my fork at the same time I speared him with a look, “for hours. Then taking off without even helping me with my four,” I jabbed my fork with meat in his direction, “very tired horses. A man who made it clear he didn’t like me much, considering our wedding night I spent alone and he was off at sea, missing, I might add, some really freaking fantastic underwear.” He did another slow blink but I kept right on going. “So if I’m a little hesitant with that man, I beg your pardon. I’ll endeavor not to be so in future.”

  Then I chomped down on the meat on my fork, yanked it off and started chewing.

  Frey didn’t reply and I looked anywhere but him as I continued to saw into my meat, fork into my potatoes with far more vigor than needed and suck down healthy gulps of wine.

  The instant I’d cleaned my plate (which was about three minutes later considering I wolfed down the remainder of my food), I jumped up, snatching it as I went while asking, “Are you done? Do you want pie?”

  Then I didn’t wait for his answer as I dumped my (probably priceless or at least, by the looks of it, exorbitantly expensive) china in the wood sink and then going back to grab the serving bowls.

  “Finnie,” he said softly, I turned my eyes to him and held up the bowl of green beans.

  “Would you like to finish these off or do you want to move onto pie?”

  “Put down the bowl,” he ordered.

  I did as he ordered but did it after walking back to the sink. I had cleared the meat and potatoes and was going back for his plate when suddenly two big hands closed around my hips and I was sitting in his lap.

  I put my hands on his chest and tried to push up at the same time crying out, “Hey!” but I got nowhere because his arms had locked around me.

  I stopped struggling as it was undignified and my Mom taught me no matter what pickle you were in, never lose your dignity and instead I raised my eyes to glare at him and demand, “Let me up.”

  “No, my new wife, take a moment, take a breath, calm yourself and let us go back to what you wished to discuss ten minutes ago.”

  “I don’t want to go back there,” I returned.