Broken Dove
Page 113
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He felt her breath rush against his mouth with her excited sigh before he murmured, “What I’d like to become accustomed to is you giving me whatever you wish…just as long as you keep finding things to give for I never will lose interest in what you have to offer.”
He watched her eyes warm further as she placed her hands light on his chest before she slid them down in order to curl her fingers into his sweater.
“This would mean I’ll have to get creative so I don’t run out of things to give,” she replied.
“Are you capable of that?” he teased.
She held his eyes as she slid her nose along his and answered, “We’ll see.”
After she said her words, she pulled up his sweater.
He lifted his arms in order that she could yank it free.
She did, tossing it to the side and putting her hands to his chest to push him back to the bed.
He allowed this.
Then he allowed her to do other things.
And much later, he had proof that she was very capable.
Or additional proof as she’d proved it before.
Repeatedly.
* * * * *
“I like Finnie,” she whispered into his neck much later, after she’d cleaned herself of him, pulled on her nightgown and slid back into bed to curl into his side.
“I’m glad.”
“It’s nice having someone from home here.”
He squeezed her with the arm he had around her. “You are home, poppy.”
“You know what I mean,” she said sleepily, snuggling closer.
He did.
He still did not like her referring to the other world as home.
Home was a warm, safe place where you were always welcome. Where there was love and memories of laughter and happy times.
Home had never been that to her.
And her next words would strengthen this conclusion.
“I didn’t have any friends at home,” she told him, still drowsy, her body getting heavier against his side. “It feels good, finally having friends again.”
Apollo closed his eyes.
As much as he wished her secrets, as determined as he was to mine the depth in her eyes, to lighten the darkness she held there, the years of mistreatment at the hands of everyone close to her tore at his heart.
“She’s a bit crazy, though,” she murmured, now sounding half-asleep.
This made Apollo open his eyes and smile into the dark.
“That she is.”
“Crazy in a good way,” she explained, but he could barely hear her, her voice was so sleepy.
This earned her another squeeze. “Go to sleep, my dove.”
“Okay,” she mumbled and seconds later, he had all of her weighing into his side.
He tightened his arm, gathering her closer while he pulled the covers higher up her shoulder.
Apollo stared at the ceiling not thinking of dragons and conspirators, witches and prisoners, Derrik and what he might be up to, or what may be assailing his son’s thoughts.
No, he thought nothing of that and all about Maddie now having friends. Now understanding she had a say in the way he raised his children and how she clearly treasured that. Now having protection and kindness and care.
Now having a home.
And Apollo giving all of that to her.
Thus it did not take long before Apollo followed her into a deep, restful, dreamless sleep as if all was right with the world.
Even when it was not.
* * * * *
Maddie
Three days later, I sat in the warm dining room at the inn where we’d stopped for the night. I had Viktor curled in my arms. His eyelids were drooping, a long day out in the snow having taken its toll.
My thoughts were on the precious bundle of toddler in my arms but my eyes were on Chris all the way across the room.
I was thinking thoughts of Viktor in an effort not to think thoughts of Chris.
It had been days and he was still avoiding me.
In doing so, he was avoiding his sister which she didn’t understand. This proved true what I’d guessed and that was they weren’t just siblings, they were companions. Apollo had a young servant in his house, I saw him. But Chris and Élan spent a great deal of time together out of necessity, necessity that was familial, warm, and if not overtly loving, the love was there all the same.
So, regardless of their different ages and genders, they were close.
Élan wishing to be near me meant her brother was not around her.
This, of course, made the little girl cross because any time she tried to get his attention, he continued to evade it. She didn’t understand why and further didn’t know how to communicate that.
I’d noticed that Apollo was giving this situation a wide berth. I could see he was watchful but he wasn’t intervening.
I had agreed with him that night days before that Christophe should be given some time. He was a boy but he was keen to learn how to be a good man and I figured this was one of Apollo’s ways of teaching him how to be this.
But four days seemed long enough to me.
Apollo said I had a say in raising his kids and that was perhaps the most beautiful gift anyone had ever given me. And considering Apollo had given me a vast amount of beauty that was saying something.
But his assessing if I agreed with his course of action and me bringing it up that I no longer agreed with his course of action were two different things.
“He remembers his mother.”
This came from Finnie who was sitting at my side.
I looked her way.
She really was very pretty, all that white blonde hair, those fascinating ice blue eyes.
Though she didn’t look much like a princess and this mostly had to do with the fact she dressed like men from this world, in breeches, boots, sweaters and cloaks.
It also had to do with the fact that if she was not in the sleigh with me or with her husband and/or son, she was practicing knife fighting with one of Frey’s men or bows and arrows with Chris (and Frey and Apollo’s men).
Frey had joined our party a couple of days before and I enjoyed watching them together even as it kind of broke my heart (I didn’t think on this too much, if I did, the “kind of” part of that would be gone).
I loved how he called her “my wee Finnie.” I loved how she addressed him as “husband” and he returned that by calling her “wife.” I loved how they bantered and teased. I loved how his men were with her. I loved how they looked at each other. How they both clearly adored their son and equally clearly adored that the other adored their son.
It was so cool watching a man like Frey, in other words, a man just like Apollo in the macho department, who was entirely unconcerned with communicating to anybody who paid attention that his heart rested in the hands of his wife and the child she gave him.
He watched her eyes warm further as she placed her hands light on his chest before she slid them down in order to curl her fingers into his sweater.
“This would mean I’ll have to get creative so I don’t run out of things to give,” she replied.
“Are you capable of that?” he teased.
She held his eyes as she slid her nose along his and answered, “We’ll see.”
After she said her words, she pulled up his sweater.
He lifted his arms in order that she could yank it free.
She did, tossing it to the side and putting her hands to his chest to push him back to the bed.
He allowed this.
Then he allowed her to do other things.
And much later, he had proof that she was very capable.
Or additional proof as she’d proved it before.
Repeatedly.
* * * * *
“I like Finnie,” she whispered into his neck much later, after she’d cleaned herself of him, pulled on her nightgown and slid back into bed to curl into his side.
“I’m glad.”
“It’s nice having someone from home here.”
He squeezed her with the arm he had around her. “You are home, poppy.”
“You know what I mean,” she said sleepily, snuggling closer.
He did.
He still did not like her referring to the other world as home.
Home was a warm, safe place where you were always welcome. Where there was love and memories of laughter and happy times.
Home had never been that to her.
And her next words would strengthen this conclusion.
“I didn’t have any friends at home,” she told him, still drowsy, her body getting heavier against his side. “It feels good, finally having friends again.”
Apollo closed his eyes.
As much as he wished her secrets, as determined as he was to mine the depth in her eyes, to lighten the darkness she held there, the years of mistreatment at the hands of everyone close to her tore at his heart.
“She’s a bit crazy, though,” she murmured, now sounding half-asleep.
This made Apollo open his eyes and smile into the dark.
“That she is.”
“Crazy in a good way,” she explained, but he could barely hear her, her voice was so sleepy.
This earned her another squeeze. “Go to sleep, my dove.”
“Okay,” she mumbled and seconds later, he had all of her weighing into his side.
He tightened his arm, gathering her closer while he pulled the covers higher up her shoulder.
Apollo stared at the ceiling not thinking of dragons and conspirators, witches and prisoners, Derrik and what he might be up to, or what may be assailing his son’s thoughts.
No, he thought nothing of that and all about Maddie now having friends. Now understanding she had a say in the way he raised his children and how she clearly treasured that. Now having protection and kindness and care.
Now having a home.
And Apollo giving all of that to her.
Thus it did not take long before Apollo followed her into a deep, restful, dreamless sleep as if all was right with the world.
Even when it was not.
* * * * *
Maddie
Three days later, I sat in the warm dining room at the inn where we’d stopped for the night. I had Viktor curled in my arms. His eyelids were drooping, a long day out in the snow having taken its toll.
My thoughts were on the precious bundle of toddler in my arms but my eyes were on Chris all the way across the room.
I was thinking thoughts of Viktor in an effort not to think thoughts of Chris.
It had been days and he was still avoiding me.
In doing so, he was avoiding his sister which she didn’t understand. This proved true what I’d guessed and that was they weren’t just siblings, they were companions. Apollo had a young servant in his house, I saw him. But Chris and Élan spent a great deal of time together out of necessity, necessity that was familial, warm, and if not overtly loving, the love was there all the same.
So, regardless of their different ages and genders, they were close.
Élan wishing to be near me meant her brother was not around her.
This, of course, made the little girl cross because any time she tried to get his attention, he continued to evade it. She didn’t understand why and further didn’t know how to communicate that.
I’d noticed that Apollo was giving this situation a wide berth. I could see he was watchful but he wasn’t intervening.
I had agreed with him that night days before that Christophe should be given some time. He was a boy but he was keen to learn how to be a good man and I figured this was one of Apollo’s ways of teaching him how to be this.
But four days seemed long enough to me.
Apollo said I had a say in raising his kids and that was perhaps the most beautiful gift anyone had ever given me. And considering Apollo had given me a vast amount of beauty that was saying something.
But his assessing if I agreed with his course of action and me bringing it up that I no longer agreed with his course of action were two different things.
“He remembers his mother.”
This came from Finnie who was sitting at my side.
I looked her way.
She really was very pretty, all that white blonde hair, those fascinating ice blue eyes.
Though she didn’t look much like a princess and this mostly had to do with the fact she dressed like men from this world, in breeches, boots, sweaters and cloaks.
It also had to do with the fact that if she was not in the sleigh with me or with her husband and/or son, she was practicing knife fighting with one of Frey’s men or bows and arrows with Chris (and Frey and Apollo’s men).
Frey had joined our party a couple of days before and I enjoyed watching them together even as it kind of broke my heart (I didn’t think on this too much, if I did, the “kind of” part of that would be gone).
I loved how he called her “my wee Finnie.” I loved how she addressed him as “husband” and he returned that by calling her “wife.” I loved how they bantered and teased. I loved how his men were with her. I loved how they looked at each other. How they both clearly adored their son and equally clearly adored that the other adored their son.
It was so cool watching a man like Frey, in other words, a man just like Apollo in the macho department, who was entirely unconcerned with communicating to anybody who paid attention that his heart rested in the hands of his wife and the child she gave him.
