Thomas’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. “Bess, I am sorry. ’Tis only a jest, I know the waters are full of vapors, but I dinna mean...”
I glared at him harshly. Then I threw my balled-up rag into the tub of bath water, which splashed up and caught my shepherd in its spray. Thomas made bizarre fish faces, water dripping from his dark curls, and I giggled at the sight.
“Siren!” he cried out. “Ye mean to drown me now, do ye?” With a roar he grabbed me, pulling me against him while I giggled and thrashed in his arms. I grabbed the rag again and tried to squeeze it out over his head, but he caught my arm, and I was laughing too hard to put up an effective resistance. He, in turn, attempted to knock me into the tub itself, and only managed to knock the darned thing over completely, sending a wave of water trailing over the dirt floor.
Cullen, done with his business outside, came running in to investigate all the hilarity, leapt into the muddy water, and splashed us both. He ran past my legs, and I stumbled into Thomas, who caught my shoulders, maintaining his balance despite his wounded leg.
“Mud,” I said, between heaving breaths. “The floor is all mud now.”
“I am fair dirtier than when I started,” Thomas agreed, looking at his legs, the linen bandages now soaked and soiled. I would have to replace them for him.
His brows lifted and his eyes were questioning. I fell into him, lightly, so as not to knock him off balance.
Our chests heaved from laughter, from exertion, from something else I could not put my finger on.
“Should we do something about it?” I breathed, caught as if I were in a faery ring, transfixed in wonder by the possibilities of what might happen next.
“Yes,” said Thomas. “I think we should.” And he moved in for a kiss.
That was not quite what I had in mind. It was delicious, for all that.
I breathed him. Tasted him. Knew him in a way I had never known anyone before. His lips were soft, his stubble rough; his mortality was like a quivering mayfly but also like a coursing river that would flow for all time. ’Tis how mortals are to my kind, ephemeral yet enduring, for while they last but moments to our centuries, their heritage lives on. In their flesh flows a brew irresistible to those of the fae, and I would savor it for as long as I could.
When we broke apart his eyelids were lowered, drowsy with pleasure, like one enchanted, bespelled.
Or was that me?
Every fiber of my being flickered like flame, hungry for more tinder, to consume and be consumed, until finally it was quenched.
“Thomas,” I said. “I think ye may be well enough for that business now.”
“Yes,” he whispered. “Oh, my Bess, are ye?”
I put a finger to his lips. “Do not call me by that name. Not now.” But I kissed him again and slid my hands inside his wet shirt. He backed away, only to peel off his shirt entirely and toss it to the muddy floor, then he dived back in and began kissing me again. Together we stumbled for the bed, nearly slipping in the mud, though I had a care for his injured leg. We tangled with one another, and in the bed clothes, until at last, for the first time, he was inside me and I was around him. My mortal self rejoiced, joining with a fit partner, and my lusty fae drank from the well of pleasure she had long been denied.
Suffice it to say, we were both distracted from cleaning up the bath, hanging our wet clothes in the sun to dry, or mopping up the spills. When at last we were spent, we fell asleep, taking a far gentler pleasure in the circle of one another’s arms.
Somehow, the next morning the mess was cleaned up anyway.
At first, I thought Thomas meant to surprise me with the unexpected tidying. Though if he did, he was a far better actor than I had supposed. He remained curled up on his bed, mouth open and dead to the world.
“Thomas!” I hissed.
He looked at me blearily, stretching his arms but not yet getting up, then glanced around the room. “My Bess,” he said in amazement. “You have been busy, have ye not? We left the place a right mess last night. I am surprised ye had the vigor to tidy it.”
I had not had the vigor to tidy it, and certainly not the stealth to then find my way back into his snug embrace. Nor would I make any claim I had, for fear my fae nature would cause the words to choke in my throat. I could only hold my tongue and let Thomas think what he might.
I stretched wide and went to stoke the fire upon the hearth. Thomas limped over to me as I prepared the porridge for our breakfast, came behind me and put his arms around my waist.
I patted his cheek with one hand and kept stirring.
“Last night,” he breathed in my ear. “Wood nymph, I had no idea that was in you.”
“Hmm.” I stirred the porridge. I had not either.
“You seem distracted this morning,” he observed. “What has you so preoccupied?”
I did not clean this cottage,I thought.Who did?“I simply wondered... at any time have you set out a dish of milk in this cottage, or left a crust of bread?”
