Storm Warned (The Grim Series) (31 page)

TWENTY-NINE

T
he sun was up, and Caris lingered in the shower. She’d never get used to the sheer luxury of the thing.

And its many uses.
She laughed out loud as a large masculine form slid in behind her and big hands began soaping her breasts in sensuous circles that made her nipples stand out immediately. In all her imaginings of what it might feel like to be with a man, she had not expected laughter to be such a sweet and tender part of it.

“Good morning, Mrs. Cole.” Liam’s voice rumbled in her ear above the water spray—then cursed as he bumped his head on the handheld shower. She always adjusted it to her own height, and he almost always forgot.

“And a good morning to you, Mr. Cole. The goats are waiting to be milked.”

“The goats will wait just a little longer.”

Caris laughed again and turned in his arms for a watery kiss. The goats often waited
just a little longer
in the mornings . . . and she found it to be a wondrous fine way to begin the day. And only yesterday, kissing Liam in the kitchen had turned into
clearing the table
—and not for breakfast. It hadn’t been the most comfortable of surfaces, but the heated urgency of their need for each other made it perfect in the moment.

That was the most amazing thing of all, the craving for each other, the drawing together, that intense pull like iron to a magnet. Caris rubbed her slick, soapy breasts back and forth on Liam’s chest. She locked her hands around his neck and stood on her tiptoes to greet his nipples with hers, sharing again that sweet, knowing laughter like a secret joke between them. His hands were busy all the while—his hands always were!—tracing intricate patterns with a silky sudsy brush all the way down her spine. She’d never thought of her back as a sensuous area before, but everything Liam did to it made her want to arch like a cat and purr.

Caris lathered her hands and reached for him, and his moan of pleasure was echoed by a subtle quiver between her legs. She loved to touch him, loved the heft and feel of his shaft in her hands as she slid her slick fingers up and down it and marveled at the growing impatience of her own body.

He touched her then and the sensation was electric. She lost her grip on him as he encircled her waist with his strong arm and bent her back so his hot mouth could reach her breast . . . Then Liam slyly slid the slender showerhead between her eagerly parted legs. Caris gripped his shoulders as he worked the clever nozzle back and forth until her breath was ragged and gasping, yet her body was greedy for more.

He carried her dripping and laughing from the shower and tossed her on the bed. The sheets would get soaking wet, but it didn’t matter to either of them. Nothing mattered, only the need to be skin to skin, hands to skin, mouth to skin.

And nose to skin. She adored the smell of him. That clean male scent that was so uniquely
his
enticed her whenever they hugged and kissed throughout the day—and even when Liam was sweaty with exertion, she couldn’t help but be aware of an underlying primal lure that tantalized her. Whenever they were naked together, she indulged herself, inhaling his scent deeply as she nuzzled, kissed, tasted.

She tasted him now, boldly taking as much pleasure from it as she was giving, relishing the feel of Liam’s hard shaft in her palm, the fascinating contrast of its velvety skin against her lips, and the immense satisfaction of coaxing growls of pleasure from a strong man. Her body fairly vibrated with anticipation too, knowing that her subtle sense of power would be delightfully brief.

Caris laughed when Liam’s hands suddenly pulled her upward, when he rolled atop of her to blanket her with his muscled body. She held him tightly to her—her man,
hers
—as he kissed her, as the weight of him pressed her into the softness of the mattress. Her fingers teased his nipples when he reared back—then gripped his arms as he parted her, filled her, slow and deep, again and again. Her body took up the rhythm as she would take up a tune. It was a dance, it was a song, and then it was
glory
.

They lay wrapped around each other for as many minutes as they dared. Definitely longer than they should when there was milking to be done, but Liam made a mental note to buy the goats off with an extra ration of grain.

“I know we’re traveling to visit your aunt and uncle next week, but Morgan phoned yesterday to ask if she and Rhys could come by this weekend,” said Caris, as she rearranged herself next to him. “They’re wanting to bring Leo and Ranyon along too—Ranyon’s anxious to visit Harley.” The ellyll had been reluctant to leave his mount behind but had finally understood that a goat, particularly a fully intact and frequently
smelly
buck goat, would not be welcome in a residential neighborhood. And he had had to concede that Harley lived a very good life at Steptoe Acres, considering that there was no shortage of does to keep him company.

Fortunately, the queen had arranged for the fat spotted hen to be returned to the farm, and Liam had promptly gifted Ranyon with it. Delighted, he’d named it Fiona, and the hen went nearly everywhere
with him.
The damn chicken is even in our wedding photos
—and so was Ranyon, of course. Caris and Liam simply couldn’t imagine their big day without the little ellyll being part of it. In the end, they’d decided to hold a small and intimate ceremony at the farm—utilizing the entire collection of flower-festooned gnomes as decorations. Ranyon had been willing to trade his beloved Blue Jays cap and shirt—“Fer one day only, mind ya!”—for a gnome
costume, lovingly sewn by Caris, complete with red stocking cap.

Cousin Tina, Uncle Conall, and Aunt Ruby had all commented on the charm of the whimsical décor—right after they fell in love with Caris. But Tina and Liam’s uncle were too caught up in getting to know the bride to notice anything unusual. Aunt Ruby’s sixth sense could not be turned off, however. She’d taken a long hard look at the strange spindly “gnome” with the treelike features—then walked right up and introduced herself to him. They’d become instant friends, although Liam wasn’t certain how that would stand up the next time Toronto played the Mariners.

This weekend, the ellyll would no doubt rearrange the gnomes again. He’d finally admitted that they appealed him because of their size—“I feel like I’m with my own clan again,” he’d said. It had become a tradition almost, that every time Ranyon visited, the gnomes ended up in a different activity. At present, just to please Liam, they were arranged in a football scrimmage in the front yard, complete with two opposing bleachers of gnome fans. One team was Seattle of course . . .

“It’ll be great to have them all come over,” Liam said to Caris. “Rhys and Morgan will get to see the foals again before we deliver them to their new home.” Gwenhidw had fallen in love with the twin Appaloosas she’d shared a stall with and had purchased them.
With pure gold.
Liam had nearly choked when he’d come in from the barn one day to find a heavy oak chest of the yellow stuff sitting in the middle of the living room floor. It proved useless trying to tell the queen that she’d paid too much. Faery custom dictated that the buyer determined the price in such matters, as long as the value was met.

Maybe she still feels guilty about the farm being wrecked
, Liam thought
.
Although Gwenhidw had, as Caris said, put things to rights as soon as she regained her strength. The roof was back on the barn. The trees were restored to their former glory. Everything that had been damaged by Maelgwn’s rogue hunt had been repaired—and long before the wedding took place. That seemed fair enough to Liam. The chest of gold? That was just plain crazy. Apparently, though, Morgan and Rhys were experiencing a similar excess—the queen had insisted on purchasing the Paint Horses procured on her behalf. The strange effect of their light-and-dark coloring had enabled Gwenhidw and Rhedyn not only to reach the summit of Steptoe Butte unseen but to get as close to the prince as possible. That success had inspired the queen to breed the mares, crossing them with her best fae stallions.
Stealth horses
, Liam thought.
Who’d have guessed?

Now that the twin foals were weaned, he and Caris would be taking them through the Great Way. And Gwenhidw had requested a concert from them while they were there. In all the dreams he’d once had of a successful music career, a command performance for a faery queen certainly hadn’t been among them. Come to think of it, he hadn’t imagined sharing the stage with someone either—but it had since become a source of joy. Something new sprang to life every time he and Caris performed, as if their love for each other informed their music.

One of their best songs so far was titled “The Wild Hunt.” Liam had turned down several music companies’ offers, no longer wanting the demands of that business—he liked his life with Caris on the farm too much. Instead, he hired his former agent, Mel, to handle the private production and marketing of their recordings, and to book small and intimate venues in which to play now and then. And at every concert they gave, Liam spotted small groups of fae in the audience, disguised as humans. He chuckled.
Who would have thought we’d become popular in two worlds?

“What’s funny?” asked Caris.

Liam rested his chin on her hair. “It’s been a few months now, and it still seems like I fell down a rabbit hole. I’m friends with faeries, I’m on a first-name basis with a queen, I travel through an interdimensional tunnel . . . and that mare that Rhedyn left here has grown honest-to-God horns. Tough for a guy to get his bearings some days, that’s all. Do you know there’s a kelpie in the irrigation pond?”

“I did have a chat with him about it. He was just passing through.”

“I just feel like I’ve wandered into a completely different world.”

“It’s not different, not really—just a bit bigger, is all.”

Bigger
. . . he hadn’t quite looked at it that way. But was bigger necessarily better?
Hell, yeah
—if Caris was in it. Liam grabbed her and rolled her on top of him, where he kissed her soundly. “You know what? Any world that includes
you
is the one I want to live in.”

EPILOGUE

L
urien made his way to the enormous circular courtyard at the heart of the palace and found it unrecognizable. The stone walls were gone. Towering monoliths of tourmaline crystals rose high on all sides: resplendent in cool reds and purples at their bases, graduating through blues and glacial teals until they topped out with brilliant emerald greens that could rival any rainforest canopy. Within that perfect arena, the ground was inlaid with complicated spirals and continuous knots in a fascinating combination of polished stone and short succulent plants designed to be walked upon. Blossoming trees shaded many carved crystal benches, all in multicolored tourmaline like the walls. Despite the vast scale, the entire place beckoned and soothed.

Hard to believe it had been nothing but a blackened crater the last time he’d been here.

In the center of it all, like the sun in a galaxy, the queen directed a team of artists and gardeners as they put the finishing touches on the creation of a new mosaic map of the Nine Realms. Set with bright agates and other gemstones, it was pleasing to the senses, particularly when it caught the sunlight. It was much larger than the first had been—and there was something else different.

“You’ve included Tir Hardd,” said Lurien, pleased.

“How could I not?” she smiled at him and extended her hand. “The new territory is a vital part of our kingdom. Perhaps we will have to start referring to our lands as the Ten Realms.”

He shook his head. “A little uneven, when the tenth is larger than the other nine combined.”

“Well, then we will simply have to think of something more clever to call it.” The queen warmly thanked her workers and dismissed them so that she might converse with her
llaw dde
in private. “You escorted the colonists without incident?”

He thought about that. This group, the twentieth so far, had been composed mostly of coblynau, and that meant there had been plenty of
incidents
—mostly squabbles, fistfights, and the occasional refusal to go any further. Nothing unexpected, however. And they’d been happy enough once they’d arrived in the new territory and witnessed its vast potential for themselves.

“The truce with the Anghenfilod holds,” he said. “Once again, we delivered the offerings as you promised them, ‘paid the toll’ if you will, and they both opened and closed the Great Way. I still don’t know quite how they do it without magic of their own, but then, it
is
their natural environment, and they understand it as we do not. All was peaceful, both coming and going.” In fact, although those strange featureless faces and soulless eyes revealed nothing, Lurien’s instincts told him that the tall, dark creatures of the Inbetween were quite
pleased
with the new arrangement. As for himself, he was still in awe that Gwenhidw had so ably managed to negotiate a pact with them. She had defended their right to live and recognized their sovereignty over the Great Way—and then she had given their leader the giant bwgan stone from the very pommel of her ancestral sword to demonstrate good faith.
There is no one like her . . . and will never be again.

“The land thrives?”

“The samplau are flourishing throughout the new land. I believe that one day soon, Tir Hardd will outstrip the old kingdom for sheer wonders. The new grove of Silver Maples alone will soon exceed the height of their parent forest here.” He shook his head in wonder. “The land is vibrant, vital, energizing. It would do you much good to spend time there. The people look forward to your presence.”

“Soon,” she said. “And what of Aurddolen—how does she find Tir Hardd?”

What could he say? He and Aurddolen had worked together, and well, for the good of the kingdom, joining forces to save both the queen and the new land. The dragon ruler had indeed managed to rally the envoys and inspire them—threatening them only a little—into holding the Way closed at their end. She’d even forgiven Lurien for arresting her.
Mostly.
But when he’d suggested a pairing, she’d refused. There had been perfectly understandable reasons, of course, not the least of which was that Aurddolen had a challenging territory to rule and her people would not approve of one of the hated Tylwyth Teg as her consort. But it was the last thing she’d said that stuck with him: “I much prefer to be the only female in my mate’s life.” It was almost embarrassing to admit that he hadn’t understood right away . . .

He decided to keep the explanation simple. “She did not wish to see Tir Hardd at this time. She cited pressing responsibilities and returned home to govern her people soon after your safe return.”

“She left?” Gwenhidw looked surprised. “And you did not go with her?”

“I found that I did not wish to.”

The queen sighed and sat down on a carved agate bench by the pond. Glowing blue fish with enormous eyes hastened to the surface, hoping for crumbs. “I had so hoped you would find more between you. That is why I encouraged her to seek you out. Why I insisted you enjoy the party as a guest and not a guardian.”

“You would send me from you?” Lurien was incredulous.

“I would see you happy.”

“Perhaps you would see yourself without temptation.”

She frowned. “Have a care, Lurien. You overstep your bounds.”

“Really?” Instead of apologizing, he sat beside her on the bench. “What bounds have I, Gwenhidw? We have been in each other’s shadow for time immemorial, you and I. And grown ever closer. Never did I allow myself to think I was worthy of you, and I am no blooded prince. But lately I have dared to hope that perhaps you might open your heart again, if not to a husband, then at least to a lover.”

“I will have neither,” she said, with a sad smile. “Many have said that when Arthfael died, much of me went to the dark lands with him. I do not think it is true, though I walked in shadow for a very long time. It is simply that I am wed to the Nine Realms, and my people are my children. My heart rests with them—and none else.”

“Noble sentiments and lofty ideals,” he said. “Your words have great power, Gwenhidw, enough to move an entire kingdom from its very foundations. You speak to your people of growth and change, and the need to entertain new ideas in order to live—and yet you will not hear your own words. You talk of the future, yet you do not release the past.”

“Is that not the way of our peoples? Is it not written on our banner? ‘We relinquish not that which is ours.
’
”

“Not even a dead king,” he said, and saw her eyes flash as the barb hit home.
Good. You
can
still feel something.

She rose to her full height, then, and power radiated from her as if from the heart of a star. A lesser being would have quailed or fled before the queen’s outraged countenance. Lurien did not even stand but simply folded his arms and waited. When she finally spoke, her voice was thick with shock and anger. “He is mine, and you will not speak of him to me again.”

“I
will
speak of him. I loved him too, Gwenhidw. Arthfael was my lord, but he was also the closest thing to a brother I have ever known. I will always miss him, but he has been gone for
millennia.
I will not be a prisoner to his memory as you have become.”

“No? I have watched you suffer ever since that terrible night. I have never blamed you for his death, Lurien. Never. But you still do. What else are you but a prisoner?”

What indeed?
He softened his voice as he stood. “We all have our regrets to bear, dear one. But to shut yourself away from love is to deny who you are. Mortals say that the Fair Ones have no hearts. You and I know that is not true.”

“I love my people. It is enough.”

“Is it? Truly, they return that love. But tell me this”—he encircled her with his powerful arms and pulled her close, though she held herself stiff and unyielding. “You need no arms to hold you in the night when you are weary from the burdens you carry? No shoulder upon which to rest your head? It seems to me you asked for that very thing not long ago.”

She shook her head and pushed herself away. “I will have no husband, Lurien. And no lover. Not even you, though you are my dearest and truest friend, and the nearest to my heart.”

Near it. But not in it
, he thought, and let his arms drop to his sides. “You may not need a love that is flesh and blood, Gwenhidw. But I do. And I find I have other needs as well. I hereby cede the title of
llaw dde
, Your Grace, and resign as your right hand.”

“What? You cannot!”

“I just did. I have guarded you well all these centuries and served you with all of my heart and soul. These palace walls have been as a cage to me, but I bore it gladly for your sake. Now, however, I see it is time for me to leave this place and return to my true self.”

“And who is that?”

“I am the Lord of the Wild Hunt, Your Grace. And that is not a title that even you can bestow or take away. It is simply who I am.” He turned and left the shadowed garden.

No voice called him back.