wondered why, after six month’s
time, the babe was still separate from her.
A
breeze rippled, seductive, teased her neck. A warm, wet, enticing nudge of
breath. It had to be Talorc. She stretched, able to move to him when she had
been unable to move to Ian. She turned her head to give him access and saw the
goblet in her hand.
All
thought of Talorc, of the babe or Ian vanished, as she focused on that goblet. She
hadn't tasted it, but she knew it was a strange bitter brew.
Drink!
Drink! The command hissed and she did. She drank as Ian's voice, distorted
with the distance, called out, “Downed ringa. Down ringa”.
She
frowned.
Downed
ringa? Donn it rinka. She gasped, as the dire warning rang clear.
"Don't
drink! Don't drink!"
She
looked at Ian, confused by what he said as rain drops fell. She opened her
mouth to catch them and felt a vise upon her belly so powerful she jackknifed
with the pain.
The
idyllic moment vanished. The boat rocked, hard, the water a wild torment. It
kept lapping at the boy trying to suck him in to the depths of it. Frozen, she
could not move to help him, to go to him, all she could do was cry and wail,
"Nooooo!" which made the boat rock with greater ferocity. Then Ian
grabbed the boy, held him to his chest.
"Not
yet, Maggie, you can't have him yet."
Tears
streamed down her face as she was rocked to and fro and the cries of her name
mutated from Ian's voice to Talorc.
She
opened her eyes. The rocking stopped, though Talorc didn't let go of her
shoulders. Frantically, she grabbed him, pulled him in and hung on for the life
she so dearly needed. "The babe, Bold, I don't have the babe." And
then she scrambled, like a demented thing, to see, to look for witness of the
loss, but there was no sign of blood, of water, of a small, unformed life
between her legs.
Tenderly
she felt her belly. No pains.
"Tell
me," Talorc asked, with the wariness of a man who didn't know how to step
into women's business, but was desperate enough to try.
She
turned to him. "Hold me, Bold, just hold me." And he did, he held her
close, settled her trembling, waited for the fear to ease from her. He stroked
her back, her head, the length of her hair. He wiped tears from her cheeks, and
kissed the paths that he stroked. When, finally, the trembling stopped he
looked down at her.
"What
was it Maggie?" But she couldn't tell him, she couldn't say that the babe
was not yet with them, and mayhap, would never be. She couldn't say that something
was wrong.
"Just
a dream. It frightened me."
"Frightened
you?" He nuzzled her neck. "You, me, even Brutus, the mangy
wimp." He chuckled and turned her cheek so she could see the great beast
of a dog quivering beside the bed.
Her
smile was meager. The dream had shaken her, more so for the two times Ian's
voice had woken her to catch her attention.
"I
don't want you fearful, Maggie. You're safe here, you can count on that."
She
didn't want to worry him, chose instead to distract. "I know," she
smiled as she raised her hand to cup his cheek. "Show me." She
leaned up to tease his lips with hers, "Show me just how close you can
get, to guarantee my safety."
"You're
a dangerous minx."
"Am
I?"
"Aye."
He lowered his mouth to hers, willing to be distracted, to blind her from the
terror of the darkness.
She
felt his lips first, as they brushed against her own, teased until she leaned
up, further into the kiss, demanding an order that Talorc was quick to obey. It
was more than a kiss, he suckled and laved her mouth, her neck, the inside of
her arm, all the places she thought quite ordinary and none of the places that
should have made her shy. And in his doing her hunger rose until she tormented
him in turn, with her own lips and tongue and nips of teeth.
They
rolled, taking turns in submission, sometimes meeting in the middle.
"Oh
Bold," her words caressed his swollen hunger, as she dared to be bold
herself and lave and suckle that part of him that separated who they
time, the babe was still separate from her.
A
breeze rippled, seductive, teased her neck. A warm, wet, enticing nudge of
breath. It had to be Talorc. She stretched, able to move to him when she had
been unable to move to Ian. She turned her head to give him access and saw the
goblet in her hand.
All
thought of Talorc, of the babe or Ian vanished, as she focused on that goblet. She
hadn't tasted it, but she knew it was a strange bitter brew.
Drink!
Drink! The command hissed and she did. She drank as Ian's voice, distorted
with the distance, called out, “Downed ringa. Down ringa”.
She
frowned.
Downed
ringa? Donn it rinka. She gasped, as the dire warning rang clear.
"Don't
drink! Don't drink!"
She
looked at Ian, confused by what he said as rain drops fell. She opened her
mouth to catch them and felt a vise upon her belly so powerful she jackknifed
with the pain.
The
idyllic moment vanished. The boat rocked, hard, the water a wild torment. It
kept lapping at the boy trying to suck him in to the depths of it. Frozen, she
could not move to help him, to go to him, all she could do was cry and wail,
"Nooooo!" which made the boat rock with greater ferocity. Then Ian
grabbed the boy, held him to his chest.
"Not
yet, Maggie, you can't have him yet."
Tears
streamed down her face as she was rocked to and fro and the cries of her name
mutated from Ian's voice to Talorc.
She
opened her eyes. The rocking stopped, though Talorc didn't let go of her
shoulders. Frantically, she grabbed him, pulled him in and hung on for the life
she so dearly needed. "The babe, Bold, I don't have the babe." And
then she scrambled, like a demented thing, to see, to look for witness of the
loss, but there was no sign of blood, of water, of a small, unformed life
between her legs.
Tenderly
she felt her belly. No pains.
"Tell
me," Talorc asked, with the wariness of a man who didn't know how to step
into women's business, but was desperate enough to try.
She
turned to him. "Hold me, Bold, just hold me." And he did, he held her
close, settled her trembling, waited for the fear to ease from her. He stroked
her back, her head, the length of her hair. He wiped tears from her cheeks, and
kissed the paths that he stroked. When, finally, the trembling stopped he
looked down at her.
"What
was it Maggie?" But she couldn't tell him, she couldn't say that the babe
was not yet with them, and mayhap, would never be. She couldn't say that something
was wrong.
"Just
a dream. It frightened me."
"Frightened
you?" He nuzzled her neck. "You, me, even Brutus, the mangy
wimp." He chuckled and turned her cheek so she could see the great beast
of a dog quivering beside the bed.
Her
smile was meager. The dream had shaken her, more so for the two times Ian's
voice had woken her to catch her attention.
"I
don't want you fearful, Maggie. You're safe here, you can count on that."
She
didn't want to worry him, chose instead to distract. "I know," she
smiled as she raised her hand to cup his cheek. "Show me." She
leaned up to tease his lips with hers, "Show me just how close you can
get, to guarantee my safety."
"You're
a dangerous minx."
"Am
I?"
"Aye."
He lowered his mouth to hers, willing to be distracted, to blind her from the
terror of the darkness.
She
felt his lips first, as they brushed against her own, teased until she leaned
up, further into the kiss, demanding an order that Talorc was quick to obey. It
was more than a kiss, he suckled and laved her mouth, her neck, the inside of
her arm, all the places she thought quite ordinary and none of the places that
should have made her shy. And in his doing her hunger rose until she tormented
him in turn, with her own lips and tongue and nips of teeth.
They
rolled, taking turns in submission, sometimes meeting in the middle.
"Oh
Bold," her words caressed his swollen hunger, as she dared to be bold
herself and lave and suckle that part of him that separated who they
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