A day out

*Julia*

It feels so marvelous to be on horseback again. My chestnut mare seems equally pleased. While a groom has been riding and exercising her, I like to think that the old girl has missed me and is glad to have her mistress back in the saddle.

It turns out to be a rare warm day that requires neither coat nor cloak. I have never before had occasion to ride beside Nick. He keeps us at a sedate pace, while I yearn to race over the fields. On the return home, I will take matters into my own hands, but I don’t wish to arrive at the widow’s appearing bedraggled with my hair askew.

The village comes into view. We plod down the main narrow thoroughfare that cuts through the center of the town, shops and buildings lined up on either side. At the far end, we approach a small weathered cottage that has most certainly seen better days. The door is so small that Nick would have to duck to cross the threshold. I imagine that he has fairly filled whatever space there is inside; I can’t envision the dwelling as having more than one room.

Nick brings his horse to a halt and dismounts in a graceful movement that makes my mouth go dry. Why does the most common of actions, when performed by him, have to affect me as though he were the most extraordinary man I’ve ever seen?

He comes around and holds his arms up to me. The moment I have both anticipated and dreaded. His powerful hands span the breadth of my waist, closing around it, his eyes latched onto mine, my hands coming to rest on his broad shoulders. He lifts me up slightly, brings me down, leaving me with the impression that he could have held me aloft all day, without his muscles once quivering with fatigue. My feet come to rest on the dirt, my knees feeling somewhat weak… no doubt because I’ve gone so long without riding. Not because he looks at me as though he might sweep me into the cottage and have his way with me.

“My Alpha!” The youthful voice echoes around us.

Nick breaks out into a wide grin, releases me, and spins around just as an urchin leaps on him, the boy’s legs circling his waist, his scrawny arms wrapping around the Alpha’s neck as Nick closes his arms around the lad. Not that I think that action is needed. The boy clings so tenaciously to him that I don’t think Nick would be able to extricate himself from the hold, even if he wanted to.

A slender she-wolf with a babe in her arms and a little girl clutching her skirt scrambles out of the house. “Johnny Lark! Get off the Alpha this instant. You can’t be crawling all over your betters.”

“It’s quite all right, Mrs. Lark,” Nick says. “I’m just glad to see he appears to be doing well.”

“Too well if you ask me. He is a handful. I was sorry to hear you took ill, my Alpha.”

Nick smiles, “I’m fine, completely recovered, no lingering ill effects.”

“Ye lost weight. I can tell that. Come inside for a cup of stew.” She says.

I know it’s ridiculous to experience a pang of jealousy because this she-wolf with her worn clothes, her untidy hair, her rough raw hands knows Nick well enough to note that he has indeed lost weight.

“I appreciate the offer, but I promised the Luna some pastry.” He turns to me. “Luna Greyfur, allow me to introduce Mrs. Lark.”

I smile kindly. “It’s a pleasure.”

Mrs. Lark curtsies three times, as though she isn’t quite certain when she has paid enough homage. “My Luna. Sorry I’m such a sight. Wasn’t expecting company today. But I have got enough stew for the both of you.”

“That’s very kind of you, but I rather have my heart set on the pastries. I possess a bit of a sweet tooth.” I say softly.

The she-wolf smiles winsomely, as though she and I share a little secret, then she scowls, reaches out, and swats her son’s backside. “Johnny, get off the Alpha.”

Like a little monkey, the lad scrambles down. Mrs. Lark’s face falls. “Oh, look what you did. You got dust all over his clothes. I will be happy to give ’em a good washing, Alpha Greyfur.”

“Actually, Mrs. Lark, that’s part of the reason I have come today. I deduced by the lines strung up at the back of your house that you’re a washer by trade.” He says.

“Yes, my Alpha. I would be pleased and honored to do your laundry free of charge for an entire month to thank ye for taking care of us.”

“Not necessary. However, we are in need of a washer at the pack. I wondered if you might be interested in the position.”

The she-wolf’s eyes widen. “You mean, working for you?”

“For the pack, yes. The Luna recently gave birth to a daughter, and as I understand it, the present laundress’s workload has increased somewhat. You would assist her, live within the residence, have three rooms available for you and your children. They would be tutored. Meals and clothing would be provided to your family. I’m also in need of a boot boy if Johnny is interested. You and he would both receive a salary.”

She staggers back. “Caw! Blimey!”

I’m not surprised by her reaction. Nick is offering them an incredible opportunity to better themselves. I realize that while he may have wanted to assure himself that they are well on the road to recovery, his main purpose in coming here is to take further care of this widow and her children.

“I would be honored, my Alpha.”

“Very good. I will send a servant along Thursday next to assist you and the children in packing up and moving to the pack house, if that gives you enough time to prepare.”

“Oh, it does indeed.” Tears well in the she-wolf’s eyes. “I didn’t know how we would make it with my mate gone. Can hardly afford the cottage and food.”

“Well, now you no longer have to worry about it. I would say a celebration is in order. What say Johnny accompany us to the tea shop for some meat pies?”

“I like pastries,” Johnny announces.

“Johnny, don’t be asking for things,” his mother admonishes.

“Nothing wrong in asking, Mrs. Lark,” Nick says. “Worse that will happen is that I will say no.” He winks at Johnny. “Then again, I might say yes. Come on, lad.”

After grabbing the reins to our horses, Nick offers me his arm.

“It was lovely to meet you, Mrs. Lark,” I say before placing my hand in the crook of Nick’s elbow.

Johnny hops on one foot, then the other, darting in front of us before settling in to walk beside Nick. “I can do more than polish your boots,” he assures Nick. “I can take care of your horses and your dogs, if you have dogs. Do you have dogs?”

“We have some hunting dogs, yes.”

“Don’t take care of cats, though. Don’t like cats.” The boy says.

Nick grins, “Think the cats pretty much take care of themselves. Would you rather work in the stables than in the manor?”

The boy nods feverishly. “Can I pet your horse?”

“You may.”

“If I work hard will you tell me some more stories?” The boy asks.

I watch Nick’s profile as the corner of his mouth lifts. “I may very well indeed.”

“I liked the weasel best.” Johnny says.

Nick’s laughter echoes around us. “Yes, I imagined you would.”

“Think he should have a sword, though.”

Nick shifts his gaze to me. “What do you think, my Luna?”

“I don’t know that I see him with a sword. A rapier, perhaps. Or maybe we need another character entirely.” Another one is beginning to take shape in my mind. “You shared the story with him.”

“Seemed the best way to keep the children calm.”

I wonder how many Alpha’s would have given two figs if the children were rambunctious. But then how many Alpha’s would have stayed with a recent widow and cared for her?

I bide my time until we are sitting at the same table we sat at before, strawberry tarts and cups of tea in front of us. Before sending Johnny on his way, Nick has loaded him up with meat pies and enough various pastries to give the entire family a bellyache. “How did you come to know Mrs. Lark?” I ask.

He shrugs. “Johnny was in here, trying to purchase a meat pie for his dying mum. He didn’t have enough money so I bought them, escorted him home, and discovered his mother was indeed ill.”

“You remained to take care of them.”

“Her mate had recently died. People are suspicious about death. Some believe it lingers, searching for another victim.” He explains.

I smile softly, “But you don’t?”

“There’s not a good deal that I fear. Losing my parents when I was so young caused me to become a bit reckless. Then, of course, living at the castle where we were told that a ghost would snatch us up at night if we went outside made us all rather intrepid. You can only live in fear for so long before you say to hell with it.”

“A method to the prince’s madness?” I ask.

“Possibly. I hadn’t considered that, but yes, I suppose it’s quite possible.”

Sipping my tea, I consider his earlier actions. “Offering Mrs. Lark a place at the pack was very generous.”

“We can well afford to be generous.” He says.

It touches me that he includes me in that statement, that he makes me feel as though I have been generous as well when I have in fact had nothing at all to do with it.

“I’m thinking you should publish your stories,” I say.

“Only if you’re willing to include your watercolors.”

I laugh, pleased and embarrassed by the notion. “They’re not that good.”

“They’re very good. They bring my words to life. I wished I had them with me when I was recounting my tales to Johnny and his sisters.”

I shake my head. “I never meant to share them with anyone other than my child”.

Placing my elbows on the table, I lean forward. “Why would you limit them to bringing only one child joy when they could bring happiness to so many?”

“You never struck me as someone who cared so much about children.” Yet, I have seen it in the attention he gives Noa and the camaraderie he’s developed with a young lad who has no qualms whatsoever in climbing over an Alpha.

He grins. “It’s a fault of having never grown up.”

But he has grown up. I have seen that as well. He is a caring Alpha. He takes care of people. He possesses a kindness that he’s kept hidden from me; yet it has been there all along when he tried to ensure that Noah never became aware of his feelings for me. When he allows himself to be disparaged and disliked in order to protect me and Noah.

“We would have to give the story a name,” I tell him.

“The Adventurous Friends of the Magic Moore.”

I laugh. “We should probably disguise it a bit more.”

“We will think on it, then.”

It is as though we are planning a future. Whether or not we decide to spend our life together, we will have the stories, the books to connect us. We will have something that we have created together. But I doubt it will be enough to sustain me.

I need more.

As we ride back toward the pack house, the words echo with the plodding of my horse’s hooves. I need more. Need more.

I need the wind in my face, the freedom, the danger, the chase. Before he can caution me against it, I yell, “I will race you to the top of the distant rise,” and prompt my horse into a sprint.

Without any doubt, I know I am being reckless, but he seems to call out that aspect of me. I have spent my entire life striving to be a good daughter, a good cousin, a good mate. I regret not a single moment of it, yet with him I feel no need to judge my actions before I act. I experience a certain independence that has never characterized my behavior before. Originally I’ve credited it to changes within me while my husband is away, but I realize now it has more to do with Nick taking on a significant role in my life even before I realize he is Nick.

I hear the pounding of his horse’s hooves and urge my own into a faster gallop. I feel young, happy, unburdened. For the first time in weeks, sorrow is not dogging my heels.

His horse’s labored breathing sounding so very close signals that he is catching up, but I am almost there. Just a bit farther. Then I crest the rise, draw my mare up short, and spin around. My laughter echoes through the copse of trees, up to the heavens and over the land surrounding me.

He is grinning broadly as he brings his own beast to a stop. “Well done.”

“I can’t remember the last time I rode with such abandon.”

“We need to give the horses a rest.” He dismounts, walks over to me and holds up his arms.

His nearness still causes a fluttering in my belly, but my triumph overrides the sensations. I have controlled my horse; I can control him. As soon as my feet touch the ground, I break away from him and, with a teasing giggle, dash over to a nearby tree. His deep laughter floats toward me, and I hear the thud of his footfalls.

Whirling around, I press my back to the tree. “No touching, no kissing,” I order, knowing that with the barest of caresses I would find myself ceding control over to him.

Before I am even aware of his intent, he is leaning in, his forearms raised and resting against the bark, his head bent, his cheek nearly but not quite touching mine. “Not touching,” he rasps, his raw voice sending a shiver of desire through me.

“But if I were allowed to touch you,” he says on a seductive whisper, “I would begin with your gloves, slowly unbuttoning them before peeling them off, one at a time, stuffing them in the pocket of my jacket. I would press a kiss to the knuckles of your left hand, the palm of your right.”

My eyes flutter closed as I imagine the heat of his mouth coating my skin in dew.

“Then I would free two buttons of your bodice… only two… just enough so I could dip my tongue into the hollow at your throat.”

My breath grows shallow, heat surges through me.

“I would lap at your skin, three times, four, before trailing my lips up to the underside of your jaw. I would inhale the rose fragrance tucked away behind your ear, and skim my mouth over your neck, from one side to the other and back to center.”

“Nick.”

“Shh, I’m not done yet.”

But I nearly am. I don’t know how I continue to stand when my legs have become unsteady.

“Two more buttons I would loosen; nay, three. I would slip one finger between the parted cloth and glide it slowly, lightly, provocatively over the swells of your breasts, aware of your sharp intake of breath as you lift them higher, yearning for a surer caress, one that encompasses the whole of my hand reaching inside your corset, your chemise, to cup your entire breast.”

“Oh, my Goddess,” I breathe out on a whisper.

“My thumb and forefinger pinching the tight little bud of your nipple as it puckers for me.”

I swallow hard. I had thought I was in control, but he has easily reversed our roles until I am little more than his puppet. Dampness forms between my thighs. My nipples are not the only buds reaching for him, desperate for the pressure of his hand stirring sensations to life, eclipsing the fantasy with reality.

“If I had leave to touch you…”

“Don’t,” I plead in a raw voice that sounds as though it belongs to another she-wolf.

“If I had leave to touch you, I would go to my knees and lift your skirt high, exposing the pink heart of your womanhood. I know it’s glistening with dampness at this very moment. Even without being able to touch you, I can feel the heat of passion radiating from you. I suspect your breasts are straining against the cloth, desperate for the caress you’re denying them. You’re throbbing between your thighs. My tongue could offer surcease; with just the right amount of pressure I could have you screaming.”

My eyes fly open. “You’re the very devil.”

He laughs darkly. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You know you’re not, damn you.”

“I have never wanted a she-wolf as much as I want you. You torment me. It’s only fair that I torment you.”

“And once you’ve had me?” I ask.

He smiles, “I’ll want you again.”

“How do you know?”

Pushing back, he holds my gaze. “Because I love you.”

“What if it’s just that we were lost in the pretense?”

“The pretense is gone now, yet still the emotions remain. Why do you doubt?”

I sigh, “Most are lucky to be loved once. Why should I be fortunate enough to be loved twice, to have happiness twice? I’m afraid fate will snatch it away if I reach for it again.”

“So I will be denied because you don’t trust fate? Fate can go to the devil, Julia. Place your trust in me.”

Reaching up, I brush his hair back from his brow. Somewhere along the way he’s lost his hat. “A little more time, Nick.”

“I would be lying if I said I’m in no hurry. I want you with a desperation that threatens to unman me, but I want all of you, without guilt, without shadows, without ghosts. And for that I will wait with all the patience I can muster.”

He understands me, comprehends why I struggle. I don’t want to lose my past, but I have to let go of it in order to reach for a future with him. But always he will be inextricably tied to Noah. “I’m closer to saying goodbye to what was. I enjoy the time I spend with you. I’m glad for the opportunities to get to know you better. You’re not at all as I thought you were. You may be the least selfish person I have ever known.”

“Don’t make me into a saint.”

“Oh, I’m not so much taken with you that I would mistake you for anything other than the devilish sort. It’s only that I’m coming to realize I like the devilish sort.”