by Frost, E J
* * *
I make my word count with three hundred and ten words to spare, and we make our reservation on the Maid of the Mist. I thought I couldn’t be more impressed by the falls when we were under them and my face was wet with spray and my ears were ringing from their roar, but I’m wrong. Daddy takes me out to dinner at a restaurant overlooking the falls and the lightshow makes the falls so beautiful that I have tears in my eyes by the time it ends.
Daddy reaches across the table and dabs my tears away with his napkin. “Like that, little girl?”
“So much. It’s like a thousand fairies playing in the water.”
Daddy smiles indulgently. “I like that image.”
“I was thinking . . . maybe, of writing a story like that? About water fairies.”
“Sexy water fairies?” Daddy asks, his brow beetling. He knows I write romances, sometimes very steamy romances. That’s not what I had in mind for this book.
“I was thinking a children’s story. Have you seen the fairies in Brenna’s sketch book? They’re beautiful. I showed her Mercer Mayer’s illustrated Beauty and the Beast that we like so much, and she said she could do fairies in that style. I was thinking about writing a fairy story that she could illustrate. I’d really like a book of mine that I could read to Olivia.”
Daddy stares at me with his mouth open for a moment. Then he snaps his mouth shut. “That would be wonderful.”
Happy that he approves, I beam at him. “That’s still more like a babysitter, right?”
I’m trying to be really careful not to usurp Miranda’s position as Olivia’s mother. But I’m very happy to be her babysitter.
“Yes, sweetheart.”
“I was thinking the fairies could find a little girl named Olivia who has gotten lost, and they could help her find her way home with some adventures on the way. That way when Olivia gets old enough to know her name, she’ll be the little girl in the story.”
Daddy blinks rapidly. “That’s a terrific idea, Emmy.”
“Do you think, if it’s good enough, that Miranda would give me permission to publish it?”
“Why would you need her permission?”
“Well, it will have Olivia’s name in it and if Bren makes the little girl look like her—”
“Sweetheart, I know you’re trying to be considerate of Miranda, but I need you to be very clear on this. I have sole custody. Miranda doesn’t get a say in anything to do with Olivia. Not a single thing. The only permission you need is mine and I give it to you.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up She Who Must Not Be Named.”
Daddy’s mouth quirks. “That’s okay, little girl. I’ll take it out on your ass later. Now, I’m going to order us some tea and pear crumble to share and, while we eat, you have a story to tell me.”
I do?
“About Olivia and the water fairies and the merlyon and the troll that lives under the bridge?”
Daddy chuckles. “No, about this place we’re staying.”
“Oh!” I showed him the bed and dungeon’s website weeks ago and promised I’d tell him the story behind it, but things have gotten so complicated with everyone coming that I forgot. After Daddy orders us tea and dessert, I tell him about the inn’s history.
“It’s haunted. It was built in the seventeen-hundreds, before the War for Independence, when this whole area was still the Niagara frontier. And it belonged to the Roarbach family who ran it as an inn. The eldest son of the Roarbach family was Thaddeus Roarbach and he was tall and golden and beautiful and a great horseman. The catch of the county. He was supposed to marry the daughter of the Brigadier General who commanded Fort Niagara, but a maid at the inn, named Molly Pritchard, turned his head. It was a big scandal. She was known as a terrible scold, which I think was the Revolutionary term for brat, and when she scolded Thaddeus Roarbach in public, he spanked her with a wooden paddle and had her put in the stocks. When she was working at the inn, he made her wear a leather collar, cuffs, and chains. I think they must have been kinky, don’t you?”
Daddy rubs his hand over his mouth. “Or he was a really bad boss.”
I giggle. “No, she fell for him. They have some of her letters and she calls him ‘my Teddy.’ Isn’t that romantic? But they were separated when the Revolutionary War came. Old Man Roarbach was a loyalist, but his three sons weren’t. They ran away and joined the Continental militia. The story goes that Molly Pritchard snuck out of the inn every night with a sack of bread and salt pork for the militiamen and during these nighttime excursions she must have liaised with Thaddeus Roarbach, if you know what I mean.”
I waggle my eyebrows at Daddy, who chuckles. “I do know what you mean, little girl.”
“Well, almost a year later, Molly gave birth to a baby boy, who everyone said was the most beautiful baby they’d ever seen, with a full head of golden curls. Molly would have been disgraced but Teddy stood by her and said they’d been married in secret, so the baby was legitimate. Old Man Roarbach was not pleased, but he couldn’t turn out his heir and grandson, so Molly stayed at the inn while Teddy and his brothers fought. Two years into the war, a man with terrible burns limped into the inn and collapsed in Molly’s arms. It was Teddy’s brother, returned with the awful news that Teddy and the other brother had been killed in the Siege of Fort Stanwix. The remaining brother only lived long enough to carry the news to his father and meet his nephew before he died of his burns. Molly followed Teddy eight years later, carried off by consumption, although most said she died of a broken heart, pining away for her Teddy. Her son inherited the inn after Old Man Roarbach died and his family’s run it ever since. They say that Molly still haunts the inn, cleaning rooms, pacing the widow’s walk, waiting for her Teddy to come home from the war. Late at night, when the house is very quiet, you can hear her whisper her love for Teddy from the shadows.”
Daddy shakes his head, but he’s grinning. “They say all that?”
“They do! Isn’t it a great story? Even if it isn’t true, I mean, a family divided and lovers parted and a maybe-legitimate son? I’m totally writing that into a book, only it’ll be Teddy who returns from the Siege of Fort Stanwix and Molly will nurse him back to health and they’ll live happily ever after.”
“Are you rewriting history, little girl?”
“Absolutely. They have to have a happy ending, Daddy. Isn’t it cool, though? We’re staying in a haunted house.”
“Very cool,” Daddy says, although he doesn’t look so sure. “The ghost doesn’t object to all the kinky stuff that goes on? Even if she and Teddy were kinky, what happens there now must be pretty shocking to someone who was basically a Puritan.”
I giggle. “They say she’s very respectful and never appears during scenes, but the basement rooms are closed at midnight so she can get a good night’s sleep.”
Daddy snorts. “So the innkeepers can get a good night’s sleep is more like. I can’t imagine a ghost suffers from sleep-deprivation, but it is a good story, sweetheart. Are you going ghost-hunting while we’re there?”
“I am! Austin’s bringing his Ouija board and we’re going to try to talk to Molly.”
“All right, my wild beanie, that sounds like it will keep you busy, at least. So no more worrying about Vashi’s meals or Javier’s dry-cleaning. This is your weekend. I want you to enjoy yourself.”
I reach across the table and Daddy immediately closes his big, warm hand around mine.
“I will, Daddy. Promise.”
“That’s my good girl.”
* * *
The descendant of Teddy Roarbach and Molly Pritchard who runs the inn is an elegant man in his early fifties with a trace of Teddy’s famous golden curls around the edge of his bald crown and deep brown eyes that I recognize from the cameo of Molly on the website. He rises from an armchair in the front lounge when Daddy and I return from walking the River Trail after dinner and tugs down the gray waistcoat he’s wearing over a white shirt and black tie. He asked us to call him Martyn w
hen we checked in and gave me such an indulgent smile when he showed us our room that I was left wondering if he might be a daddy.
He’s smiling the same smile now. “Logan, Emily. Good evening. How was dinner?”
“Wonderful,” Daddy says.
“Thank you so much for the recommendation,” I say.
“You’re welcome. The view’s very worthwhile and I’m guessing by your pink cheeks that you walked one of the Glen trails as well?” At our nods, his smile widens. “Any luck with that peregrine?”
When I told him our plans for the evening, he gave me a laminated sheet with birds of the Falls and suggested we look for a peregrine falcon if we took the River Trail.
“No, sir, but we saw tons of ducks and a heron.”
“A blue heron? Those were my favorite birds until one ate all of the koi in my pond,” he says it very seriously, but his eyes are twinkling. “If you’re up early, you might even see him there. I think he’s hoping I’ll restock.”
“Optimistic sod,” Daddy laughs.
“Well, I might be guilty of leaving him a spare anchovy or two when I make Caesar salads. Now, I know you have a busy day tomorrow with your guests arriving, but I hope you’ll make time for breakfast. Continental starts at seven and cooked breakfasts start at eight.”
“Eight-thirty okay?” Daddy asks.
“Perfect. Your table’s the same as your room number. Also, I believe three of your guests have arrived early. I put them in room two across the hall from you. The very tall gentleman asked that I give you an extra room key.” He fishes a key out of his waistcoat pocket and hands it to Daddy. It’s a huge, brass, antique-looking key. I love how they’ve kept so many of the original features of the Inn.
After we say goodnight to Martyn, we take the winding staircase up two floors to our suite. On the inn’s website, it’s the honeymoon suite, but I think Martyn might have redecorated when I told him I’m a little. There’s much more pink in the suite now than there was on the website and there are stuffies on every pillow and chair, including an antique teddy bear with moveable joints and a plaid bow-tie that I fell in love with at first sight and am wondering how I could convince Martyn to let me take him home with me. When Daddy lets us into our suite, I run to the bed and scoop up Professor Teddington and tell him all about our dinner.
“Baby doll, I’m going to pop across the hall. I’m guessing it’s Niall, Shaan and Vashi who have arrived, although Niall didn’t text me. They’re probably worn out from traveling. I’m just going to say hi and then I’ll be back to give you your bath.”
“Okay, Daddy. If they’re here early, can they come sight-seeing with us tomorrow?”
“We’ll see, sweetie. Niall might have other plans.”
I nod contentedly and settle in with my stuffed audience.
Chapter Two
Logan
My heart rate quickens as I cross the hall towards room two. There are many people I’m looking forward to seeing this weekend. Luisa, my former submissive, now happily married to her new Dom. Mac, my former unit commander in the Navy, who retired over the summer and is in the process of moving to New York but accelerated his plans by several weeks to come to our ceremony. But the person I’m most looking forward to seeing is on the other side of the heavy wooden door in front of me.
Although Niall left a key for me, I knock, just in case they’re in the middle of something. Niall’s deep voice, heavy with an Irish burr that twenty year of living Stateside hasn’t erased, calls to me to come in.
When I open the door, I see that their room is much the same as our suite, although with more chintz and less pink. Their room has two things my suite lacks: a submissive bound to the bed and a Viking in blue jeans and a black T-shirt stretched across his fifty-inch chest lounging in a chintz-covered armchair watching his bound submissive squirm.
When I enter, the Viking rises. “Wanker.”
“Gobshite,” I respond before he wraps that huge frame around me and slaps me on the back. I return his hug. “I thought you weren’t coming in until tomorrow?”
He chuckles. “Yeh still underestimating the persuasive power of submissives? Vashi got our flights moved. And upgraded.” He rolls his shoulders. “She wanted me fresh for th’ arm wrestling tomorrow.”
I slap his huge biceps. “I’ve got a tenner on you. Don’t let me down.”
There’s an arm-wrestle battle royale tomorrow over who is going to officiate the collaring ceremony. Four of my close friends offered within a few days of each other and an arm-wrestling contest was all I could think of the prevent an all-out war. Javier thinks he should do it because he’s Javier. Mac thinks he should do it because he was my C.O. and he introduced me to kink. Warrin thinks he should do it because he’s a daddy. And Niall thinks he should do it because he’s been my friend two minutes longer than Warrin. I’ve put my money on Niall because he’s taller than the rest of them and built like a Viking, but I think Javier wants it more and he’s a sneaky bastard so he might sabotage the others to win.
“Yeh got time for a drink now?” Niall asks. He knows Emily’s bedtime routine almost as well as I do since he frequently calls to read her a bedtime story.
“Sure,” I say. “Just let me poke my head across and let Emily know we’ll be a few minutes.”
“Shaan,” Niall calls to the third member of his trio, who I’m guessing is in the bathroom by the sound of running water. The water goes off and Shaan pokes his half-shaven face around the door on the far side of the room. “Logan and I are getting a drink. Vashi has five more minutes at that speed.” He nods to their gagged and bound submissive who looks back at him with pleading eyes.
“Yes, Sir,” Shaan replies.
Niall and Shaan have a complex power exchange and it’s rare to hear Shaan speak so respectfully to his Dom. Either he’s coming off a punishment or trying to avoid one.
Niall follows me out into the hall while I let Emily know she has free time for fifteen minutes before her bath. She’s already settled in the bed with several teddy bears and her laptop, so I don’t think the delay is any hardship.
When I close the door to the suite, Niall starts down the staircase. I’m a little puzzled as I follow him until I remember that there’s an honor bar on the ground floor across from the breakfast room.
The bar’s like the snugs in pubs from my childhood and after Niall pulls two beers out of a glass-fronted beer fridge and writes our room numbers down on a clipboard next to the fridge, we settle into leather wing-back chairs. Niall pulls a folded square of paper out of his pocket and tosses it onto the table between us. I lift an eyebrow at him as I pick up the paper and unfold it.
“Bloody Brickie Construction Group, a New York corporation,” I read off the paper.
Niall drowns his wide, white grin in a sip of his beer.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“Going bi-coastal. First project breaks ground after Thanksgiving.”
“You’re opening a branch in New York?”
Niall nods. “Promised Vashi we could start spending six months a year here by Easter.”
“You’re—”
My throat clogs. I blame the beer. Can’t be that I’m overwhelmed by a rush of emotion for a man I’ve known for less than five months.
“Yeh knew we wouldn’t be happy with video calls fer long.”
“I’d planned to visit in the spring. Once Livvy’s a little older.”
Niall lifts one, huge shoulder. “Tough to travel with a baby. Now you won’t have to.”
The idea that Niall and his family will be living close by within six months fills me with a rush of warmth. “Have you started thinking about where you’d live?”
“Aye. Doubt it’ll be the East Village, but we won’t be far away. First project’s an urban reclamation in Flatbush.”
I nod. “Take a look at Gowanus. Safe neighborhood. Lots of townhouses. Easy commute for you.”
“I will.” He nods at the paper. “Turn it over.”
I do and there’s a small picture of woods and a real estate listing for an acre of land in Katonah, New York.
“What’s this?”
“Labor of love. It’s got access to a lake. Two hours from the city. I want to build a cabin. Place for us to spend the summers with the wee ones.”
“Wee ones?”
Niall grins. “Vashi’s gettin’ broody.”
Emily might be, too, given all the time we’ve spent talking about Olivia over the last few weeks.
“Looks ideal,” I say.
“Come in with me on it. It’s an acre. I can build big.”
I rub my hand over my chin. The idea appeals to me on so many levels. “How big?”
Niall shrugs. “Big as yeh need. Plannin’ more than one?”
“I want—” I don’t even know how to explain it to him. “A big family. It’s not just about the kids, although Emily does want more. I want . . . you know how the Kennedys had a compound? I want something like that. Lots of families living together. How long do you think it would take to build a couple of cabins?”
“If I do it all with my own two hands like I’d planned, mebbe three years.”
“What if a couple of guys pitched in? Not sure any of them know anything about construction, but we can all use a hammer if you tell us where to aim it.”
Niall chuckles. “Sounds dangerous. How soon d’yeh want it done?”
“Summer after next doable?”
“If we doan faff about. What’s the hurry? Yer wee one’ll barely be walkin’.”
“I like the idea of a place for everyone to gather out of the City. If we insulated the cabins, could we use them in the winter?”
Niall nods. “Wouldn’t leave them without insulation anyway. Winters here? Pipes’d burst. We put log burners in ‘em and they’d be useable in winter. I fancy that, nowwat yeh’ve said.”
It’s caught my imagination, too. And I know just who I want to speak to about coming in with us.
