good enough to eat, and the now familiar ache started in his groin. He
was going to die if she didn’t say yes soon.
“It’s a cookie,” his wife proclaimed as though that meant
something.
Cian was rapidly discovering that even with the bond, his mind
still wandered. It was his wife’s fault. She had a smile that tended to
melt his insides. Cian forced himself to concentrate on her words and
not how creamy her skin looked.
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Meg continued, “I had to figure out how to substitute honey for
sugar, but I think I have it. It’s an oatmeal cookie. It’s better with
chocolate chips, but we don’t have any. Try one.”
That wasn’t what he wanted to try. He wanted to get his mouth on
her breasts and that sweet, soft pussy of hers, but he was playing a
long game. Still, he couldn’t disappoint her. He took the “cookie” and
prayed it tasted better than the other meals she had attempted to cook
him. His bride was beautiful and possessed a sharp mind, but she was
crap when it came to cooking. He’d had to choke down dinner all
week and smile and tell her how edible it was. Flanna was attempting
to teach her a few tricks to Fae cooking. So far, it wasn’t working.
Her hand was on her hip, and there was an offended look on her
pretty face. “It’s not going to kill you, Ci.”
He was pretty sure it wouldn’t. He quickly calculated his odds of
surviving Meg’s cookie experiment. He was confident, when applying
the laws of rational deduction, that his odds were in the 99.783%
range. Meg’s foot tapped impatiently on the floor. He had a 100%
chance of pissing off his wife if he didn’t eat the damn thing and
manage to smile. Cian shoved the cookie in his mouth. He gamely
chewed.
It was not half-bad. “It’s good.”
The smiled that quirked up her lips was wry. “You don’t have to
sound so surprised, Cian. I never was a very good cook, but I always
could bake. I didn’t get these hips from following the Atkins Diet.”
Cian would have asked her what she meant, but he was eating a
second cookie. It wasn’t just good. It was great. He had never really
liked oats. They tasted like paper, but Meggie’s cookie was soft and
sweet. He reached for a third.
Meg pulled the platter back. “Hey, I need those for the goblins.
Flanna said they’ve set up camp on the other side of the village in the
caves.”
Cian shook his head. He knew all about the goblins. It was
expected that they would show up. In a way, it was a good thing.
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They were good for the trade they brought. The goblins lived on the
plane and had chosen to do business with the village, but they were
not here to pay court to the kings and their queen. They were
Unseelie. They were potentially very dangerous. “You aren’t meeting
the goblins, my lover.”
“Why not? I’ve met everyone else,” Meg pointed out with a
breezy lack of concern.
It was a huge change from the worried girl he’d met a few days
ago. Meg had settled in nicely. She was growing in confidence and
proving herself a good partner. She was polite when she needed to be,
and she had good instincts as to when a little show of temper was
required. Patience and gentleness worked with the brownies and
gnomes, but he’d been proud when Meg slapped one of the cave
dwarves silly. The dwarf been downright rude about humans being a
bit lacking in the brain department. Meg had smacked his little head.
“Sorry,” she had said with an innocent smile. “I’m not smart enough
to control my impulses.”
The dwarves had all watched their tongues since. It was now
being said that the queen could be viciously brutal when she wanted
to be. It was a compliment coming from the dwarves.
Cian watched the cookies go into a basket. There were a whole lot
of cookies. The goblins might not even like them. His wife certainly
wouldn’t be wandering into a goblin cave with her pretty smile and
basket of treats. The goblins would just as likely eat her. “The goblins
aren’t here to meet you, lover. They come because of all the trade that
goes on at gatherings like this.”
Meg looked thoughtful for a moment. “What would goblins
trade?”
He loved her questions. She was the most curious woman he’d
ever met. “All manner of things. They tend to scavenge, so you can
bet they have items from other planes. If we had anything to trade,
I’m sure we could find something to intrigue you. The only thing they
make themselves is a strange form of liquor. It’s a brown drink they
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brew from beans they find in the mountains. It gets goblins drunk, but
it just makes me jittery.”
“Because, of course, you have to try Goblin moonshine,” Meg
said with an affectionate laugh.
Cian shrugged. “If someone tells me it’s liquor, I’ll try it. I didn’t
like this stuff, though. It smelled lovely, but it tasted bitter.”
Meg’s hazel eyes flared. She was very serious all of the sudden.
“Beans from the mountains? Makes you jittery? Would you say it’s an
acquired taste?”
“I don’t know who would want to acquire it.” Cian shook his head
as he thought about that drink. It had been very bitter and acidic, and
the goblins served it at a scalding temperature. “It makes you jittery if
you drink too much, and then it’s like you’re addicted. If you don’t
get it, you have a headache.”
“Like the one I’ve had for a freaking week and a half,” Meg
snarled. She took him by the shirt, fisting the fabric in her hands to
draw him close. “You will take me to the coffee.”
Cian’s eyes widened, and for a moment he wondered if the
dwarves hadn’t hit it on the head. His queen did, indeed, look a bit
vicious. “They don’t call it coffee.”
“I don’t care what they call it, Cian,” Meg swore. “I want it. I’m a
pot-a-day coffee drinker who’s been without it for weeks now. You
will get me that coffee. Do you understand?”
“It’s become my new quest, wife,” Cian said solemnly. He never
argued with a woman when she got that look in her eyes.
Meg backed off and smiled. “Excellent. We can trade the cookies
for the coffee.”
She placed a cloth over the full basket and smoothed down her
new skirts. Some of the women of the village had held a small sewing
party to make the queen a little wardrobe. Meg had been effusive in
her praise of the three dresses, two pairs of pants, two shirts, and
some nice undergarments. She had made the women promise to teach
her what they knew. Her gracious acceptance of their rather plain
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garments had endeared her to the women of the village. It was the
kind of thing that Beck would have turned down, fearing he was
taking advantage of his subjects.
What Beck didn’t—wouldn’t—understand was that peopl
e needed
to be needed. Those women had enjoyed giving their queen a gift she
appreciated. Beck held himself apart. While the people loved him for
his loyal defense of their lives and property, they rarely spoke to him
beyond saying hello. They rarely asked his counsel or wondered about
his health. Meg was going to change some of that.
If she survived meeting the goblins.
“Are you ready?”
“No.” He didn’t particularly want to go meet the goblins without
Beck at his back.
“Good,” she replied as though he had cheerfully said yes.
She picked up her basket and walked straight out the door. Cian
wondered where his day had gone wrong. He’d planned it all out. He
had worked hard all week so he would be able to spend this afternoon
seducing his wife, and now he had to follow her into a goblin cave
where she intended to talk them into exchanging their precious liquor
for sweetened oat cakes.
He’d gone down the wrong road.
Cian got off his stool and ran to catch up with his wife. Her hips
swayed invitingly in her pretty skirt. She turned and winked at him as
she walked down the lane. He jogged the last distance between them
and slipped his hand into hers. She was talking and moving with a
sweet feminine energy that had him sighing.
He might be going down the wrong road, but it was the one she
had picked. He would follow.
* * * *
Meg chattered happily with her husband as they walked through
the village toward the caves where the goblins were based. She smiled
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up at Cian and realized she really thought of him as her husband. It
wasn’t just a title someone had stamped on them. They were married.
When had that happened?
The last several days had been a revelation. She had really begun
to fit into village life. Meg wasn’t delusional. She realized she wasn’t
the best cook in the world. Her poor husband was suffering as she
learned, but she wasn’t about to give up. The cottage had rapidly
become her domain. Cian had convinced her to stay in the cottage
while Beck was gone. There had been many daily tasks that required a
resident.
It had been a smart play on his part. She’d been unable to hold
herself apart. She found herself rearranging the furniture to suit her.
She found yards of gauzy fabric in a trunk in the closet and fashioned
some pretty curtains with Flanna’s aid. She weeded the front
flowerbeds. The gnomes had been happy to give her bulbs to plant.
She was even becoming fond of the chickens. It would make it
almost impossible to eat them. She’d become fond of all the animals.
She’d learned to milk the cows and how to brush Sweeney’s mane.
She hadn’t let Cian kill the rooster. The rooster only crowed about
half the time. Meg had discovered that Cian’s cock was a much better
judge of time. It pressed against her every morning as the sun rose,
seeking relief.
It hadn’t found any, yet.
That would change soon. She wouldn’t be able to deny him much
longer. She didn’t want to. She dreamed about him at night, Cian and
his brother. As wonderful as Cian was, she still was heartbroken over
Beck. She missed him, but she needed to move on with Cian. He
didn’t know it yet, but she intended to do that tonight.
They both became quiet as they trudged through the forest toward
the caves. Meg felt Cian’s hand squeeze hers as he helped her over a
puddle.
She thought about the letters Beck had been sending. They had
begun arriving the day after he left. They popped up on the vampire
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computer, but they had been written in his own careful hand. Beck’s
writing was like everything else about him, carefully controlled and
wholly masculine. There were two every day, one addressed to Cian
and the other to her.
Meg had refused to read the first one. Cian had read his aloud and
then dictated his own response. The brothers asked about each other’s
health and the status of their endeavors. Beck inquired about the farm
and the village, while Cian asked about the job Beck was doing.
Meg remained silent.
She was going to have to deal with Beck eventually. Meg didn’t
understand him at all. Beck had left her behind, but then he wrote her
every day. She had broken down and read one of his letters. It had
been full of him saying he missed her and wanted to make up for his
treatment of her. He had promised to come home soon with gifts for
her. He promised her a life of comfort.
The trouble was she didn’t want that life. She was enjoying the
one she had found. She felt a great sense of belonging and
accomplishment when she thought about the changes she had made to
the cottage. She was bonding with the villagers and rapidly becoming
important to them. Cian seemed to need her, as well.
She had no intention of allowing Beck to hire a woman to do her
work. Although, if he proved as insensitive as he had been before, he
might have to pay someone to sleep with him.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Cian’s whole body was tense.
Meg smiled sweetly at him. She didn’t have high hopes that Cian
would be able to truly top her when it came to sex. He was far too
indulgent. He was nothing like his brother. Beck would have ordered
her to stay away from the goblins. If she had disobeyed, he probably
would have locked her away. Cian had followed even though she
could tell he was a little reluctant.
“Yes.” Meg didn’t feel a bit of the trepidation Cian obviously was
experiencing. She’d met vampires and faeries and trolls and those
rude dwarves. How bad could goblins be?
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“Aye,” came a deep voice. “I thought I smelled something tasty
coming this way.”
Holy crap. What the hell was that?
She had seen goblins in the arena, but they were different up
close. This one was as tall as she was though it had to outweigh her
by a hundred pounds. Like the little brownies who were so helpful,
the goblin had a head of scraggly, wiry hair. This one’s hair was
black, and his leathery skin had a distinctly green cast to it. His eyes
were large as though he spent most his time in the darkness. They
were pitch black and seemed a little dead to Meg, reminding her of a
snake’s eyes. His mouth was the largest feature on his triangular face.
It was filled with razor-sharp teeth. He wore only a small animal skin
around his waist, and Meg found herself very grateful for the attempt
at modesty.
“I love to eat sidhe,” the goblin grumbled, the words tangling
around his teeth. He scented the air with the holes in the middle of his
face that seemed to pass for nostrils. “And something else. You aren’t
sidhe, girl.”
Cian tried to pull her behind him, but that seemed like running to
Meg. She had read an awful lot, and running was a good way to get
oneself chas
ed down and eaten by a predator. There were times when
boldness was called for. If she was the Queen, then she should start
acting like one. And maybe Beck’s name would come in handy.
Everyone seemed to be afraid of him.
“I’m human, goblin,” Meg said, keeping her voice steady. “And
I’m Beckett and Cian Finn’s wife.”
The goblin did not look impressed. “So the boys finally found a
mate, did they? I’m sure my king will be very interested in that bit of
news. Unfortunately for you, you brought the wrong brother to our
camp, little girl. If you’re going to greet the goblins, you should have
brought the warrior with you. As it is, I’ll tell my king all about the
brothers getting married and then me eating one of them.”
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He looked ready to do it, too. His clawed hands twitched
dangerously.
“I want you to run,” Cian whispered into her ear. “Run and don’t
look back.”
He was such a drama queen. The goblin, on the other hand, was a
big old bully. She gambled. She walked straight up to the goblin, and
using her thumb and middle finger, she thwacked him on his
sensitive-looking nostrils. According to many a nature documentary,
it worked on sharks. The goblin howled and took two steps back.
“There. Now we’re starting to understand each other.” She looked
at the small flask on his hip. “Is that what I think it is?”
The goblin pulled the flask out. He held it in one hand as he
protected his nose with the other. He wasn’t so scary now. “It is mine.
You would not like it. Sidhe do not like our liquors.”
Meg stalked the goblin. “I told you before, goblin. I’m not sidhe.”
With a curious expression, he handed her the flask. “It is strong, I
warn you.”
Meg wiped the rim with the towel she’d placed on the basket of
cookies. She wasn’t sure, but she suspected goblins were probably
dirty. It didn’t matter once that smell hit her. Heavenly coffee. It was
still warm. Meg tipped the flask and drank it down in one long gulp. It
wasn’t even as strong as an espresso.
“Strong, my ass,” she said with genuine relief. “It isn’t strong,
goblin, but it will do. I’m going to need more. Take me to your leader,