by Siobhan Muir
He still calls her a whore, and now a witch. Och! He should look to himself afore he points fingers.
“All right, my dear?”
Sarah blinked back her impending tears to look over at her new husband. She offered him a wobbly smile.
“Aye, husband. Very fine, thank you.”
Thomas cocked his head and his eyes narrowed. “Are you worried about your sister?”
Clenching her jaw to keep from erupting into true sorrow, she nodded.
“Och, don’t fret about her, sweetheart.” He grasped her hand and brought it to his lips, diverting her attention. “From what I remember, Isabelle always managed to land on her feet. She was a wily one, she was.”
Unease settled in Sarah’s gut. “What do you mean by that, Thomas MacArthur?”
“I mean she was ever smarter than those who sought to do her harm.” He squeezed her hand gently. “Your sister was a strong lass for all the rumors suggesting she was Fae.”
“She wasn’t Fae. She’s my full sister! Och, I’ll never forgive the lyin’ bastard for spreading those lies about her.”
“Don’t fash yourself, my dear.” Thomas squeezed her hand. “Both of you are free of him now.”
“D’you think she’s all right, Thomas?”
“Aye, I believe she is. And I ken in my heart you’ll see her again.”
Thomas gathered her into his arms and kissed her hair behind the flower garland.
“I love you, Thomas.”
“Aww, I love you as well, sweetheart.”
Relief slide through Sarah, but in her heart, she still sorrowed over Isabelle’s absence. At last, the night came to a close, at least for the bride and groom, and she retreated from the increasingly bawdy and inebriated crowd. Gratitude flooded through her as they closed the door to their honeymoon suite, no more than the cleanest room in the tavern, and locked it behind them.
Sarah carefully unpinned the garland from her hair and dropped it on the bureau with a sigh. Thomas stood behind her and kissed her shoulders, sliding his fingers down her arms in soothing and sensual motions.
She met his eyes in the polished brass mirror, and he gave her a cheeky grin.
“Are you ready for this, my dear?”
She almost answered him, but her eyes snagged on something lying against the pristine white-pillow coverlet on the bed behind them.
She gasped and hurried out from under his hands to pick up the rosemary mint soap cake. Tied to it with a green ribbon was a sprig of lavender and rare paper envelope. Sarah turned the envelope over in her hands, reveling in the smoothness of the paper and the silky texture of the ribbon.
“What is it, sweetheart?”
She shook her head as tears choked her throat. The writing on the front of the envelope read Sarah & Thomas MacArthur in a careful hand.
“Can you read it?”
“Not well. Will you do it for me, Thomas?” Her voice thickened by the time she said his name.
“O’ course.”
She sat on the bed as she handed him the letter and fingered the waxy texture of the soap cake. The rounded edges suggested it had seen some heavy travel, and she suspected where it had been. Thomas’s weight settled beside her, and he pulled out the creamy paper with gilt edges and more of the spidery writing.
Dearest Sarah and Thomas,
I am writing to wish you the greatest of blessings and love on your day. You have chosen one of the best days to celebrate your union, and I am so happy for you both. May your marriage be fruitful and full of plenty of little ones tugging at your skirts. I love you, Sarah, and I’m so glad to have you as my brother-by-law, Thomas. Always treat each other as you would a treasure, for that’s what you are to each other.
As for me, I am well and have found my place in this world, free from harm. I don’t suffer from the lies told or rumors spread. Be of good cheer and know I love you. And thank you for the soap, you always did ken my favorite.
May the Goddess bless you and keep you. All my love,
Isabelle Swift nee Andersen
“Thomas!” Sarah cried jubilantly, shooting to her feet. “Isabelle’s married. She’s safe and loved.” She twirled, her joy pushing away the sorrow for good. “She married Master Swift.” Sarah laughed in delight. “I kenned he was sweet on her.”
“You met her husband?”
“Oh, aye, afore they married. He stayed here the nights before…”
She trailed off as other pieces snapped into place.
“Sweetheart?”
Sarah smiled at her new husband and shook her head. Isabelle had done well for herself, even if her methods had been unorthodox. And she’d won herself love and a husband in the end. Jubilation flooded Sarah’s body, and she threw herself into her husband’s surprised arms, laughing with joy.
He laughed with her, and the letter was forgotten as they rolled onto the bed and kissed with abandon.
* * * *
Isabelle Swiftwind nee Andersen laughed in the arms of her sexy dragon husband as the pipers played a lively jig. Her glamour disguised their forms, hidden from the censorious and condemning eyes of the village elders and her mother’s erstwhile husband. Isabelle had loved it when the pompous bastard shook hands with Jonarrion and thanked them for coming without knowledge of who stood before him. She’d just barely withheld her urge to stick her tongue out at him.
No one recognized them, though she caught Marie and Hamish MacClanahan staring at them speculatively. She didn’t like deceiving her friends, but Jonarrion assured her she’d be able to visit them soon, when the other village residents had retired. If nothing else, she’d like to leave them a little gift to let them know she was safe and happy.
“Are you enjoying yourself, my wanton wench?” Jonarrion whispered as they came together once more.
“Aye, my dastardly dragon, I am. Do you think she’s found the note?”
“I’m sure she’ll see it before they consummate the marriage.” He winked. “Otherwise, it will make for a very scented, soapy night.”
Isabelle snorted and shook her head. “You’re incorrigible!”
“Incorrigible? Where did you learn such language, sa cherro?”
“From your brother, Setharrion. He has quite the library, he does.”
Jonarrion sighed with mock regret. “Dearest Goddess, he’s created a monster.”
“He wasn’t the only one,” she remarked smugly, whirling away through the dancers before he could ask what she meant.
Isabelle darted out of the square and bolted for the copse of trees overlooking the Loch. She gathered her skirts as she pushed her body, damn near losing her breath as she laughed hard when she heard Jonarrion’s surprised curse behind her. Her lungs burned with her efforts to run and giggle, but she just managed to cross the threshold of the copse when he caught her. His arms locked around her waist, and he swung her around until she chortled breathlessly in his embrace.
“When did you become so fleet, my stubborn beauty?”
“I don’t ken, especially with the secret I’m carrying.”
Jonarrion stilled and his eyes sobered, all levity gone. “What is it, Belle?”
“Don’t fash yourself, husband.” She leaned forward to kiss the rough skin below his ear. “’Tis grand news.”
“What?” He pulled her back into view.
“Do you remember when you told me you couldn’t get me with child?”
Jonarrion frowned and nodded slowly.
“Two months agone I had a dream.” She cupped his face as she boldly held his gaze. “My mother was there, and Alain d’Ariana, too. They stood there, smiling for all the world to see. But then the Goddess appeared.”
“The Goddess?”
“Aye.” She paused. “At least, I think ‘twas the Goddess. I can’t think who else it could be. She seemed great, and old, and wise, and…so much more than I can tell you.”
Jonarrion only raised his eyebrows, but didn’t interrupt.
“She came to me and
held my hands, smiling so sweetly tears fell from my eyes. Then She placed one hand against my belly and said I was to carry on both lines. All my daughters would be of the Fae people, and all my sons would be of the Dragons. Then She winked and said I could start right now.”
Jonarrion blinked. “Right now?”
“Aye, Jonarrion. Right now.”
A few seconds passed before alarm showed in his expression. “Are you telling me you’re pregnant? Now?”
“Aye, you daft beastie, now.” Isabelle grinned.
Jonarrion bellowed a roar of joy so loud, she thought she heard the musicians back at the wedding celebration pause in their playing. He twirled Isabelle around in a flying circle, laughing and cheering like a man rescued from certain death.
Then he stopped suddenly, as if he’d hit a wall.
“Did the Goddess say aught more? Did She say if I was forgiven for my stupidity?”
Compassion and love slid through Isabelle. “Oh, Jonarrion, the only one from whom you needed forgiveness was yourself. You just weren’t ready for children yet.”
“But I’m not old enough to reproduce.”
“Wheesht! Only for dragons, perhaps, but that doesn’t mean you can’t make Fae daughters.”
Jonarrion looked like he’d been poleaxed. “Fae daughters?”
“Aye, at least one.” Isabelle raised an eyebrow. “Does that frighten you?”
Jonarrion snorted. “Aye, mayhap, if she’s anything like you.”
“You cheeky, wee beastie!” But a grin stretched her lips.
His expression changed so fast, she could barely keep track. He reached for her and smashed his lips to hers, conveying all his joy and excitement in his fervor. The slick heat of his tongue sizzled along her nerves and set fire to her pussy, making her squirm against his hard thighs. Her clit swelled, and her nipples hardened, demanding instant attention. She rubbed her breasts against his chest to relieve the hot ache, and he groaned with approval.
“I promise to give you as many children as you wish, sa cherro, and I promise to rid the world of any demons who would threaten them.” He cupped her mound through her skirts, her undergarments clinging to the curls between her legs with her liquid pleasure.
“Only if you also promise to always come back from such adventures. I can’t bear to be without you.”
“I promise, before you and the holy Goddess. I’ll always come home to my wife.”
The world rippled around them, and the vow shivered a few moments in the air before it cleared. Isabelle felt the power in it and trembled, but knew it would hold him to his promise and help keep him safe. And she’d always be by his side. She’d mastered some of her abilities, and she learned more skills each day. A good thing, too, because she’d have to teach her daughter when it became time.
“Jonarrion,” she whispered as she wiggled her hips against his.
“Aye, Isabelle?”
“Make love to me here. Take me in front of the Goddess, in Her sacred place.”
His grin was brilliant in the dim light of the fading evening. “Very well, Mistress Swiftwind. I bow to your command.”
“And don’t forget to bite me.”
He roared his laughter as he took her gently to the ground and lifted her skirt. “I’d never forget to bite my wanton wench.” He dove in and thrust his tongue into her weeping pussy. The trees and waters of the Loch rang with her lustful cries, as he drove her into shrieking ecstasy.
And he did bite her, as he’d promised.
THE END
WWW.SIOBHANMUIR.COM
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Siobhan Muir lives in Las Vegas, Nevada, with her husband, two daughters, and a vegetarian cat she swears is a shape-shifter, though he’s never shifted when she can see him. When not writing, she can be found looking down a microscope at fossil fox teeth, pursuing her other love, paleontology. An avid reader of science fiction/fantasy, her husband gave her a paranormal romance for Christmas one year, and she was hooked for good.
In previous lives, Siobhan has been an actor at the Colorado Renaissance Festival, a field geologist in the Aleutian Islands, and restored inter-planetary imagery at the USGS. She’s hiked to the top of Mount St. Helens and to the bottom of Meteor Crater.
Siobhan writes kick-ass adventure with hot sex for men and women to enjoy. She believes in happily ever after, redemption, and communication, all of which you will find in her paranormal romance stories.
For all titles by Siobhan Muir, please visit
www.bookstrand.com/siobhan-muir
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
