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August 4, 1181
The duke's sister was not an unfamiliar figure to Hilla. She was a stepdaughter of Tarien's brother, making her a step-cousin to Hilla's own grandchildren, her granddaughter of her same name included--a granddaughter close in age with Lady Rona herself, and the two of them had been good friends since shortly after Arydath and Tarien's marriage. The younger Hilla even dropped frequent hints of future mutual grandchildren--though so far as the elder Hilla knew, Lady Rona had no interest in that sort of meddling. Still, it had always been a nice thought, even if she herself would be long gone before it could ever happen.
Only, she'd never imagined that Lady Rona would be long gone before then too.
She'd been summoned late the previous night, when one of Sir Ashe's guards had turned up at the castle and told her that Lady Rona was ailing--fine one minute, just laughing with her husband after putting the kids to bed, then collapsed in his arms the next. Hilla hadn't known what to think of that; she'd mainly been annoyed at having been roused at the hour. At least they'd done her the service of sending a rather handsome fellow, but if Lady Rona hadn't been a family friend, she might have put it off until morning.
Of course, once she'd gotten there... That thorn Sir Ashe had fished out of Lady Rona's flesh was of the type she still saw in her nightmares, close to two decades after that horrible spree.
"She's sleeping a little more soundly now, but there's not much more I can do. I'm sorry, sir."
"No." Sir Ashe had not been the first distraught spouse to tell her that. He would not be the last either--one of the sad facts of being a healer. "No, I can't accept that. There has to be something you can do. You haven't tried everything."
"Sir." As always, she knew what she wanted to say. I've been here all last night and all this morning and now the better part of the afternoon. I haven't even left for a bite to eat. Don't accuse me of not doing my job. But this was a grieving man and that wasn't tactful, so she spoke as her mother had trained her to speak. "I'm sorry. I've seen this illness before and there isn't a plant I've heard of that can cure it. If I had the better part of the year and a willing test subject, perhaps I could figure out the recipe for a cure, but it would still be a long shot."
"How long do you have?" How long does she have?
Hilla shook her head. None of the victims of that horrible wave had given her nearly long enough, even with Laveria as a collaborator. "Not more than a week. I hate to be the one to tell you, but you'd best start making your preparations. You'll need a more permanent wet-nurse for your son, and--"
"No!" It was by sheer blessing of the old family sleeping draught that he didn't wake his wife. "Darry won't need a wet-nurse when Rona gets better. She will get better!" He swallowed back some denial-defying sob and stared down at Lady Rona's sleeping form. It was a look of more than premature mourning, than of sorrow and the agony of a broken heart. There was something more immediate, more concrete. Something like an apology. "What do you want? I'll give you everything I have if that's what it takes. More, even! Just help her--"
"Sir, if there was the slightest chance that I could help her, I would do it for nothing." And as a woman who had lived most of her life from fee to fee before her daughter had married a knight, that was not a familiar sentiment. "You're young. Too young to have to learn that simply loving enough won't heal everything. I'm sorry I had to be the one to tell you, but love isn't magic. Even magic can't do everything."
"Don't tell me what magic can or can't do! I know more about magic than you ever--!" He caught himself before Hilla could even fathom the claim. "...Do you know magic?"
She sighed. "There's no such thing as magic, dear."
"You're wrong." It wasn't the first or last time she would hear that either, though never in regards to magic. Was it ever too early for grief to become madness? "Out of anyone in this kingdom, who do you think would know the most about magic? Farilon? Lucien? Aerina?"
"No one in this kingdom knows anything about magic." Except for you, apparently. "No one anywhere knows anything about magic."
And not for the first time in her life, and not for the last, as she studied yet another patient beyond her reach, she wished that she was wrong.
"At least stay with her a while longer?" At last, some hint of reality had struck him. Hilla nodded. That, at least, she could do. "And can you keep the children near her? Darry won't know what's going on. I hate to do that to Yvanette, but she's Rona's best chance."
Or not. "What do you mean?"
"They have magic."
Dear Lord. The poor, stupid man. "Really, there's no such thing as--"
"I know, but they have it! Just humor me for a couple of hours!" He looked over his dying wife one last time before stepping around the foot of her bed, his back to Hilla. "Keep them by her side until I get back."
"And where are you going?"
He didn't look back once as he hurried to the door. "To get the one person in this whole goddamn country who might actually save her."
NEXT CHAPTER:
November 16, 1170
"You really don't have to mind the fire, you know," Goodwife Fedurin muttered as Tarien continued to prod at the hearth. "You're a guest, after all."
Tarien laughed. From what he could gather, old Hilla had a reputation among her neighbors as something of a shrew, but he found her rather pleasant, in her own snarky sort of way. The other folks must not have taken the time to get to know her--either that or she'd just taken a liking to him. Either way, he supposed he couldn't complain, or at least not in regards to the woman herself. "Oh, it's no trouble. What sort of gentleman would I be if I'd come in here and sat my ass down and barked at you to put on a fire for me?"
Hilla sniffed. "No sort, I suppose--although I do still think you're only doing all this for us so my daughter will start putting out one of these days."
A Hilla-esque thing to say indeed! Arydath had certainly gotten her spunk from somewhere. Nevertheless, it was a little insulting to think that that was the impression he was giving, even if she was only joking. At the same time, however, he'd never been one for serious conversation--and after the tragic loss of his little step-nephew, a little humor might have served well to ease his melancholy for a moment. "Do you think it's working?" He turned his head and winked at her.
She shrugged. "Hell, we have a floor; if she won't crawl into your bed, then don't be surprised to find me in it one of these days."
Really, there was never any way of telling whether or not Hilla was kidding; in this case, Tarien figured it would be better for both of them if he assumed that she was. "Your appreciation does flatter me, Goodwife."
She opened her mouth to respond--something about his playing hard to get, no doubt--but couldn't get a word out before Arydath had emerged from the other room, taken one look at Tarien, and groaned.
"You're here again?" She didn't even bother trying to hide her annoyance--and yet, by some youthful logic, that lent a greater thrill to her presence. "Remind me again how you even found my house?"
She crossed her arms and stepped toward him. Her mother stood, then hurried off to the other room. "I'll just go see what the children are up to."
Regardless of her occasional insinuations, Hilla was quite possibly Tarien's only ally in his pursuit of Arydath--and really, why wouldn't she be? What old peasant woman in her right mind would have a second thought if her equally underprivileged daughter suddenly caught the eye a knight? Hilla probably went to bed every night to dream about castles and tapestries and green-eyed grandchildren in fancy cribs. He felt a little bad about getting her hopes up; even if he had known Arydath for more than a couple months, she'd yet to express any interest.
Not that that was enough to stop a man from trying. "You sure you aren't cold in just that old dress, love? I could warm you up if you like."
Her brows arched and her eyes narrowed to dark slits, Arydath sighed. "I'm fine. Now, why the hell are you here?"
He shrugged. "I was in the neighborhood--thought it might be nice to catch a little visit with a friend while I was in the area."
"Since when are we friends?" She placed her hand on her hip and stared at him, an intense wave of taunting challenge streaming from her dark eyes. Damn--he had a thing for dark eyes.
"We can be whatever you want us to be."
She didn't look impressed--and yet, that only made him want to try harder. "You don't understand the meaning of the word 'no', do you?"
"Funny--forty years ago, my mother came to the same conclusion," he chuckled. "You know, if she could get past the fact that you're a peasant, I don't doubt that my mother would love you."
"But I am, so she wouldn't." The stark reality of her words stung, but he had to note that he'd never seen her so calm. Every time he'd seen her before, it had only been a matter of minutes before she exploded into some sort of terrifying and beautiful ball of vitriol, but now... not so much. He wondered why that was.
He placed his hand to the back of his neck and frowned. "Ah, just as well! My father probably wouldn't like you even if you were a princess."
Arydath raised an eyebrow. "Is he a misogynist?"
"No, just a run-of-the-mill misanthrope." Feeling the need to fidget, Tarien ran a quick, desperate scan over his own person; he found a stray thread on his sleeve and began to play with it. There was a persistent ache that came with talking about his father, and he wanted nothing more than to ignore it. "You shouldn't be offended if he doesn't like you. He doesn't like most people--hardly anyone, really, other than my sisters and my mother and my nieces and nephews. Hell, he doesn't even like me all that much."
He realized a second too late that he should not have said that. He could already hear her inevitable response of 'I can't imagine why' or 'That makes two of us, then'. He braced himself and waited; shockingly enough, it never came.
Indeed, all he'd brought upon himself was a silence, which he had never been one to suffer. He tossed back his head and forced himself to smile. "Ah, but enough with my bothersome self-pity! Care for a filthy limerick? I have the most extensive repertoire of filthy limericks."
"No thank you; I've probably heard all you have and more." She grabbed one of the tails of her green scarf and tugged, allowing that lovely cinnamon hair to cascade to her shoulders. She then took him by the hand and pressed it into his palm; if the quality of the fabric had surprised him before, it was certainly a shock now that he held the whole thing. "Now, I'm sure you have better things to do than wasting my time."
She wanted him to leave, but his boots had turned to lead; all he could do was stand and gape at her. This made no sense. "Why did you just give me your scarf?"
She stared at him blankly, as if he couldn't have asked a dumber question if he'd tried. Then, she flashed him a slight curve of the mouth that might have been the foundation of a smile. "You need it more than I do."
This made even less sense. "What? You mean this is some sort of... magic scarf?"
Arydath rolled her eyes, that curious expression now a thing of the past as her usual sneer took its place. "Yes, Tarien--it's a magic scarf. Now get the hell out of my house, you numbskull."
And with that, she turned around and returned to room from whence she came, closing the door with a quiet, yet firm thud!
What a strange, strange woman.
And yet, he didn't think he would have come had she been anything else.
NEXT CHAPTER:
November 22, 1168
Had nudged the log with the poker and tilted it toward the back of the hearth, a small spray of sparks bursting from the fire--then, within seconds, it was as if they had never existed. And yet, the fire kept on burning. Maybe that was how God saw people.
Hell, the way these past few years had gone, Had was starting to see people that way too. That couldn't have been a good sign. His father had a favorite joke in which he made note of his own cynicism and warned Had never to start thinking that way. Had didn't think his father was as cynical as he claimed to be, but with thoughts like that, he was beginning to wonder about himself. He hoped his father couldn't read minds; the man would've been disappointed with what he saw.
"Thank you for putting on the fire, Had," Lyraina's grandmother acknowledged from a few feet back. "You're always such a help around the house." She often told him that, but up until a few weeks ago, she had always concluded with a scornful 'unlike my good-for-nothing son-in-law'. Needless to mention, she didn't say that anymore. She would probably never say it again.
"My pleasure, Goodwife Fedurin." Had jabbed the log once again. Was this how it felt to be God? Creating a multitude of sparks only to watch as they vanished into nothingness? Uneasy, Had took to christening them: the duke, Lady Alina, Goodman Diarn, his own mother...
The older woman allowed him the brief courtesy of a forced smile, then turned around and headed into the children's bedroom. Lyraina's three youngest siblings were ill with a nasty cough that was going around, Cord was outside tending to the pigs, and Hilla had accompanied their mother to the market; with Goodwife Fedurin now gone, Had and Lyraina were alone.
As Goodwife Fedurin began to soothe the coughing children in the next room, Had put down the poker and turned to face Lyraina. "How are you holding up?" He was worried about her. She'd been so stoic since her father's passing--she had to be. She had to be strong for her mother and grandmother, and especially for her siblings. Had knew this for a fact. He himself had been the same way for a while after his mother died. He'd kept a brave face during the days, and then again during the nights, helping his father with the animals and tucking his siblings into bed; and then, whenever he had a moment to himself, he would shed a few of those pent-up tears.
Lyraina lived in a smaller house than he did. He didn't know when she might get a chance to be alone.
She pulled herself to her feet and looked him in the eye, her lashes flickering as the moisture welled behind them. Embarassed, she let her face collapse into her hands and choked. The sound was not unlike that of a stifled sob.
Had kissed the side of her brow and wrapped his arms around her. Lyraina was constantly teasing him because she was bigger than he was. He'd never thought she could seem so small.
NEXT CHAPTER:
March 16, 1163
"No fair!" cried Had as Lyraina laughed victoriously. "You're not supposed to hit that hard!"
Lyraina shook her head. "You know the rules; the winner gets to hit the loser. They don't say how hard the winner's allowed to hit, so that just means the winner can hit the loser as hard as she wants."
"You tell him, girly!" chuckled her papa from the fire. At the sound of his voice, her grandmother appeared quite disappointed; Lyraina concluded that she herself had been about to say something similar, but now had to remain silent so as to not appear to agree with him. That did seem like something her grandmother would think: Never let a man know you agree with him--it goes to his head, and before you know it, he thinks he's smarter than you!
"Oh, come on, Had! It's just a game," she did her best to assure him. "It's nothing to get all mopey over, you know."
Had remained silent, simply rubbing his arm with his other hand while his teal eyes glowered up at her.
"What? Hurt by a girl?"
Immediately, he let go of his injured arm and laughed. "Of course not, silly! It's just... you girls and your 'it's just a game'. It's not 'just a game' to us boys, you know--it all counts for something."
"Think it makes up for the fact that you're all shorter?" Lyraina teased.
Had contorted his features into a rather pained-looking face. "You've seen adults, haven't you? We boys get to be taller than you girls in the end, you know!"
"Yes, I'm sure the day will come when you tower over me!" she giggled; given the good number of inches she'd always had on him, the thought was absurd. She squatted and stared up at him, her eyes wide and adoring. "Oh, Had, you're sooooo tall! When did this happen?"
The boy scowled. "Shut up--you're not that much taller than me, you know." He shuffled toward her so that they were nearly touching; if she'd wanted to, she could have easily kissed him. "See?"
"Not really," she informed him. "The view must be different from down there."
"Shut--up!"
Boys! They were just so easy! "Even if you do get taller, I'll probably still be taller than you," Lyraina told Had matter-of-factually. "My papa's quite a bit taller than your papa."
"But my mama's taller than your mama," he protested. "What if we end up being the same height?"
"Then you'll still never be taller than me."
Had opened his mouth to argue, but before he could say anything, Lyraina's papa called, "Had, I'd better take you home now; I promised your mother I'd have you back for your supper."
"Why can't he have supper with us?" Lyraina demanded.
"Because his mother wants him to have supper at his house," her father restated--then, with a devilish twinkle in his eye, he added, "besides, I'm sure you'll be eating enough suppers with him when you're older, hmm?"
She raised an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Her father simply laughed; meanwhile, her grandmother's forehead hit the table.
"Bye Lyraina," Had bade her, pulling her close for a quick hug. "Thanks for having me over today."
Lyraina felt her face grow warm; perhaps she was catching whatever her brother and sister had? "You're welcome, Had. Thanks for coming."
Her father shot the two of them a dark glare. "Don't you touch my daughter before you marry her, you hear?"
"Ewww!" they exclaimed in unison.
"Oh, they say that now," sighed her papa to his mother-in-law as he made his way around the table.
"Shut up and get the boy out of here already, you great useless dolt!" Lyraina's grandmother snapped at him.
"Yes, your majesty. Come along, Had."
Lyraina watched as Had scrambled to the corner of the room to fetch his cloak, then hurried outside after her father. She was still rather disappointed that he wasn't staying for supper--and still trying to figure out what her father had meant with his cryptic comment.
"Men!" moaned her grandmother from the table. "Good luck trying to find a damned mule with less of a brain than any one of them! Let me tell you something, girl--there's only one part of a man's body that was ever of any use to anyone, and you won't be catching a glimpse of that until it's too late and you're already married to the rest of him!"
Frowning, Lyraina shrugged. "I don't know, Grandmama; I think they're funny."
NEXT CHAPTER:
March 20, 1161
Hilla's daughter had told her a few interesting stories over the course of the ten months she had been in Naroni so far, but none had interested her quite so much as the recent plight of the baroness--perhaps because it remained unresolved, especially to Hilla personally.
She did not particularly care for stuffy nobles, but at the same time, she could not let this challenge pass. Goodwife Fedurin had always been regarded as the most talented healer in all of Sarona, if not all of Dovia. Back in her younger days, people had come from settlements several days away, begging her to rid them of their ailments, and she had never let her clients down--save for one.
The Countess of Sarona. The woman had been heavily pregnant with her third child when Hilla had been called, she distinctly remembered. Her sanity had been declining for several years, but it was only as her due date approached that the earl had sought help for his wife. Hilla had come, and she had tried everything she could think of... but nothing could ease the countess's mind. In the end, it had all been for naught, as she had died giving birth to her son anyway.
If Hilla thought hard enough, she could vaguely recall the countess's six-year-old daughter--the current Baroness of Tetran, now suffering from a similar affliction, and most certainly not with child.
Redemption was in the air, she could feel it! After all these years, she would finally know the answer, finally solve the puzzle, finally...
"Uh... who are you?"
An exotic woman had entered the baron's study. She appeared to be about Hilla's age, though considerably taller and rather darker. She was messaging her temple gentle, as though she had a slight headache.
"I'm the healer, of course," Hilla introduced herself. "My name is Hilla Fedurin, and I'm here to see the baroness."
The woman frowned. "Oh really? Well, healer, it just so happens that I am here to see the baroness as well."
"Nonsense!" barked Hilla, leaping to her feet and planting her hands firmly on her hips; who was this woman to deprive her of her one shot at closure? "I'll have you know, I tended to her mother!"
However, the stranger seemed unimpressed. "I also tended to her mother."
Hilla raised an eyebrow. "Liar! No one ever tended to her until I did, just before she gave birth to the current earl--and that birth killed her, you know."
"I assure you, I did!" the woman insisted snappishly. "I went and examined her as a favor to the Duke of Luperia!"
It was Hilla's turn to be unimpressed. "Honey, who hasn't done a favor to the Duke of Luperia?"
The other woman said nothing.
"Oh, I see," Hilla surmised with a sniff. "You're that pagan who actually forced the duke to claim one of his army of bastards. No wonder the earl kept your visit a secret--he didn't want to be associated with the likes of you."
"Perhaps it is to my advantage that he kept my visit a secret," she retorted, "as it seems that of the two of us, I am the one who has managed to stay in business."
Furious, Hilla opened her mouth to fire off an even greater insulted, but she was interrupted by the arrival of the handsome young steward.
"Everything all right in here, ladies?"
Now it was. His silky blond hair... his piercing blue-gray eyes... his straight nose and full bottom lip... there was nothing like a prime specimen of man to put Hilla at ease, that was for sure.
Unfortunately, a small glint of gold of his left hand told her that he was married--as if she hadn't had enough rotten luck today already!
"Has the baron returned?" asked the gypsy on both women's behalf as Hilla instead began to undress the steward with her eyes. As pleasant as it was, there was a certain bittersweetness to the fantasy; to think, if only this other woman wasn't in the room, then perhaps she would undress him with more than just her eyes.
"No. As I told you, Laveria, he went for a ride with his children and Princess Holladrin. I don't imagine he will be back for another few hours."
Laveria rolled her eyes. "Very well. Anyway, it seems that we both came to examine the baroness, but..."
"You're too late!" the steward declared with a laugh. "Both of you! It just so happens that a rather small, rather naked doctor was here this morning."
Suddenly, Hilla found the man fully clothed once more. "What?"
He nodded. "Cured her too, he did, or so it seemed for a few minutes... but then she relapsed. The kid just shook his head and said it was hopeless, and by the time I finished blinking, he'd vanished."
"Relapsed?" Hilla repeated. "So I could still look her over?"
Before the steward replied, Laveria shook her head. "If the kid says it's hopeless, it's hopeless--he's the best physician we have in these parts."
"True," the steward agreed, "but if you truly wish, Goodwife Fedurin, then feel free to try. If you ask me, it wasn't truly hopeless--I think the kid did heal her, then realized he liked the bitch better as a nutcase and undid whatever it was he did in the first place! Not that I would blame him--and in all honesty, I'm not sure the baron would either."
NEXT CHAPTER:
June 11, 1160
"All right, honey, I'm finally home!" called Halford triumphantly as he stepped into his house. Earlier that afternoon, he'd discovered a rotten board in the fence of the pigpen, and had been forced to take only a few minutes to go and fetch a replacement plank from the woodpile behind the house. 'Only a few minutes', however, had been sufficient time for Bacon and Pork to escape.
Pork was a rather fat pig who could not have gotten far in any case, so it had been no trouble to find him; he'd barely made it to the road. Bacon, however, was a prime example of porcine athleticism if Halford had ever seen one. He'd chased her all the way to the duke's keep, then from there to Florian's old house, and then his new house. She'd then led him to the village in Veldorashire and the pond where everyone went to have sex, up to the church by the castle... and then he'd had to stop to take a breath. By the time he'd recovered, she was long gone.
So at last, he'd headed home, only to find Bacon safe and sound in the pen, happily making piglets with Ham. Go figure. Oh well, now he could go to his wife and work on some babies of his own.
Unfortunately, it appeared that Arydath had already gone to bed. The baby-making would have to wait another night. That damn pig!
Frustrated, Halford kicked off his boots and trudged into the bedroom, where he was greeted by the sight of his sleeping wife.
He found her just as he always did--snoring loudly, drooling every which way, eyes rolling back to the of her head as their lids rapidly flickered open and shut. God, she was beautiful; so divine was she in her obvious imperfection that it almost seemed a sin to wake her.
How had he been so lucky to have found a woman such as she? He could search the ends of the earth, he was sure, and never find another quite like his Arydath--there never would be another. It made him almost sad, knowing that his own son would never find a woman who would even come close to the splendor that was Arydath.
Smiling, Halford quickly undressed and pulled back the covers on his side of the bed, careful not to disturb her as he settled himself to the mattress. Then, as he always did, he shuffled toward her, gently wrapping her in his arms as he rested his chin at the nape of her neck.
Suddenly, the snoring stopped--she was awake. Damn his carelessness!
On the other hand... he thought deviously as he began to caress her thigh. Perhaps Bacon hadn't prevented the conception of his fourth child after all.
His fingers slowly crawled up the inside of her legs, past the confines of her shift. He was getting close, he knew; it was only a matter of time before she turned around and...
"Not tonight, you great dolt," she muttered gruffly. "It's not your birthday."
"So...?" he pried breathily. This was odd; Arydath was ordinarily up for sex any day of the week.
She shoved his hand away and pulled herself upwards. "Stupid pig. You know better than that, Corry."
"Who the hell is Corry?" yawned Halford. "I'm not in the mood to be angry right now, but I'll beat the living shit out of him tomorrow."
She replied with a silence broken only by her footsteps as she made her way around the bed. Then--
"Up. Now."
Clearly, she wasn't her usual self. Not wanting to anger her any further, Halford stood. "Look, I don't see what the problem is here. I'm sorry if I did something to hurt you, but you normally don't mind, so--"
"Normally?" she shrieked, cutting him off. "Normally? What the hell is wrong with you, you useless sack of potatoes? None of this is normal--that is, unless you make it a such practice to randomly get into bed with women and fondle their cunts with your filthy sausage fingers that you forget who you've already felt up and who you haven't? Damn you, Halford! My God, just wait 'til I tell Arydath about this! I swear, I'll..."
Just wait 'til I tell Arydath? What on earth did she mean by...?
Oh, God!
The resemblance, as always, was uncanny. She had the same cinnamon hair, the same ebony eyes, the same small stature and olive skin... and yet, this was not his Arydath. It was not her nose, nor were those her brows, and though they were barely visible in the darkness, the bags under her eyes and the wrinkles by her mouth did most definitely not belong on the face of his twenty-five-year-old wife.
But what was she doing here?
"Hilla!" he gasped in horrified recognition. "My God! Why in the hell are you here?"
"Well, after my son died, I figured I'd come over here to live with my daughter," she spat bitterly, "only to find out the ass she married is a bloody lecher! That girl never did know how to pick a man!"
Halford scowled. "In case you forgot, you're the one who made her marry me!"
"Well, we both thought you'd knocked her up at the time, didn't we?" screeched Hilla. "You damn kids and your stupid pranks! I still can't believe she opened her legs just to get the last laugh--you're just lucky her father was long dead at the time, or else he'd've strapped you to the back of a bull and poked it in the ass with a red-hot brand! Now, get the hell outta here!"
That was a request he was only too happy to fulfill.
Or at least, so he thought until he saw his wife just outside the bedroom door, one hand on her hip, staring him down as he entered the kitchen. Halford swallowed nervously.
She had heard it all, he was quite sure, though her expression was unnervingly neutral. Perhaps she was in shock--and really, what woman wouldn't be? Hopefully, she'd realize that it was just all a misunderstanding; surely, she didn't think he'd ever feel up her mother on purpose, did she?
He opened his mouth to explain, but before he could say a word--
"Oh, Halford, you're an idiot!" Arydath cackled appreciatively, catching herself with one arm as she bent forward with unyielding laughter. "You just got into bed with my mother and didn't even notice that she wasn't me! I can't wait until the kids are old enough for me to tell them about this! Can't you just imagine the look on their faces?"
That was all he needed to hear--he understood completely.
"You planned this, didn't you?" he snarled as he lunged toward her, tickling her in his fury--he couldn't bring himself to do anything worse. "Dammit, woman! You and your jokes!"
"You must admit, it was terribly funny," she insisted with a chuckle.
"If it was anyone else, maybe!"
Arydath rolled her eyes. "Oh, don't be such a killjoy! Anyway, I was just going to sleep in the children's room until we get Mother a bed of her own. Join me? I promise you that this woman won't snap at you, no matter where you stick any of your sausages."
"In the children's room?" he repeated as he continued to run his fingers all over her. "Are you mad?"
"The children are spending the night at Florian and Thetis's," she insisted. "Besides, Mother kept me up with her yelling--I have to get my revenge by keeping her up with my moaning."
Halford grinned. "Well, I can't exactly say no to that, can I?"
"Will you kids keep it down?" yelled Hilla from the bedroom. "Relentless little scamps, your generation, always with your minds in your naughty bits! Why, back in my day, we'd've never even dreamed of..."
NEXT CHAPTER:
