Bedtime Stories_ A Collection of Erotic Fairy Tales Part 22

Marc snorted. "Ha! I don't believe you! You're like . . . twice the size of me! All big . . . burly . . . muscles . . ." Having paused to top off both gla.s.ses, Marc lifted his to his lips. "Prove it. Prove you c'n turn into a shrew, and . . . and . . . I'll do your taxes! For free! 'Cause I I don't think you don't think you can. can."

"Ha!" Knocking back half his gla.s.s, Oger shoved to his feet. Siona tensed, watching and waiting. The baron set his gla.s.s on the table with a thunk thunk, rubbed his large palms together, shrugged his shoulders, and muttered a new set of spellwords. With his back mostly to her, she quickly rolled from her side to her paws, crouching in antic.i.p.ation. As soon as his body finished shrinking, his clothes shifting from blues and greens to a mottled gray and his nose lengthening into a long, slender snout, she sprang.

Leaping twice, once from cushion to floor, the second from floor to prey, she slammed into the little creature's back with her paws and clamped her jaws down on his neck and head. A hard, fast shake snapped snapped something-and the body swelled abruptly, letting her know she had succeeded. Knocking him unconscious wouldn't have ended the spell; only death could have had that power. Jerking her teeth free, Siona scampered away from the dead baron, jaws gaping and throat yowling. The pendant translated her wordless distress. something-and the body swelled abruptly, letting her know she had succeeded. Knocking him unconscious wouldn't have ended the spell; only death could have had that power. Jerking her teeth free, Siona scampered away from the dead baron, jaws gaping and throat yowling. The pendant translated her wordless distress.

"G.o.ds in Heaven! Get it out of my mouuuuth! Disgusting disgusting disgusting disgusting, I've got his blood blood in my mouth! in my mouth! Ewwwww! Out! Out! Out! Ewwwww! Out! Out! Out! " "

Scrambling out of his chair, Marc grabbed for the water flask on the sideboard and a bowl of nuts near the flask. Dumping the nuts on the sideboard tray, he splashed water into the bowl and tucked it under her distress-wrinkled muzzle when she came near. Disgusted but grateful, Siona buried her head in the liquid, swishing her face. Pulling out, she sneezed twice while he dumped the water on the floor and gave her a fresh bowlful to swish in. The second time she pulled out, her wail of disgust turned to a choking yowl.

The collar translated that, too, projecting her distress as, "Oh, G.o.ds, I'm going to be sick sick-hairball! Hairbaaaall!"

Her husband had the temerity to laugh at her, proving he was was at least somewhat drunk. Not completely, but somewhat. Recovering enough to stroke her back while she coughed up the contents of her stomach, he offered her a third, fresh round of water to clear the new nasty taste from her mouth. at least somewhat drunk. Not completely, but somewhat. Recovering enough to stroke her back while she coughed up the contents of her stomach, he offered her a third, fresh round of water to clear the new nasty taste from her mouth.

"There, there, puss . . . You'll have to stay Boots a little while longer, to wait for the baron's magics to fade," he reminded her. "Given how strong he is, or was, that could take up to a week. But it's over. You did it. You were very very brave and skillful, my dear." brave and skillful, my dear."

Muzzle wet, gut still cramped, Siona leaned into him as he scooped her up for a post-battle cuddle.

At that moment, the parlor maid returned with the bottle of rum. She opened the door cautiously this time, peering warily around the edge. The moment she spotted the bloodied, mangled body on the floor, she gasped.

Staggering to his feet, Marc stepped over Oger's unmoving form and held out his hand. "Ah, the rum. Thank you! You have perfect timing. I would like to apologize for egging him on like that and thus scaring you. I'm terribly sorry, but I hope you can take some comfort in the fact that it was necessary at the time."

"But . . . the baron . . ." she stammered, glancing between him and the corpse on the floor.

"Ah, yes. It seems he not only insisted upon scaring you as a lion, he foolishly went on to transform himself into a shrew, ignoring the fact that there was a cat in the room," Marc dismissed airily. "And, cats being cats, with their instincts written into their bones by the G.o.ds Themselves, well . . . every mage is cautioned that such things can happen, and warned over and over in their spellshifting cla.s.ses to be alert for such possible dangers.

"But he went and did it anyway, so only the baron himself is to blame for his timely . . . pardon me, terribly sorry, his un untimely demise." Patting her on the shoulder, he took the bottle of rum from her. "Be a dear and call up some manservants to carry the body out to the chapel for consecration and preparation, will you? I'm sure Oger's family will want it spell-preserved and transported back to his family plot, too.

"Don't you worry," he added as the woman gave him a doubtful look. "The rightful rightful heir to Calabas will be returning shortly, and everything will get back to normal very soon. Or at least a reasonable facsimile of it. Come along, Boots. We're still on our honeymoon, and heir to Calabas will be returning shortly, and everything will get back to normal very soon. Or at least a reasonable facsimile of it. Come along, Boots. We're still on our honeymoon, and I'm I'm in the mood to celebrate!" in the mood to celebrate!"

Bottle of rum tucked in the crook of one arm and slightly damp wife-cat cuddled in the other, the Marquis of Calabas strolled out of the downstairs parlor, leaving the poor, befuddled maid behind.

The King Who Heard a Joke.

Author's Note: This is one of those fairy tales that has several variations. Some say it was a king, others a farmer, others a fisherman, so on and so forth. And normally-being a rabid equalist-I would balk at the medieval mind-set prompting the "moral" behind the original tale. But this being the modern world, there is plenty of room for mutually consenting activities of, shall we say, a kinkier than average nature? Plus, in the version I've chosen to tell, there is a message worthy of being gleaned. With all of that in mind, I decided that my own version would make for an acceptably interesting story. Here's hoping you'll enjoy it, too. This is one of those fairy tales that has several variations. Some say it was a king, others a farmer, others a fisherman, so on and so forth. And normally-being a rabid equalist-I would balk at the medieval mind-set prompting the "moral" behind the original tale. But this being the modern world, there is plenty of room for mutually consenting activities of, shall we say, a kinkier than average nature? Plus, in the version I've chosen to tell, there is a message worthy of being gleaned. With all of that in mind, I decided that my own version would make for an acceptably interesting story. Here's hoping you'll enjoy it, too.

JACK King couldn't breathe. As fast as he tried to gasp in air, it spasmed right back out again, until his face was a reddened rictus from being scrunched. If he hadn't been seated on the milking stool, he might have fallen to the ground and injured himself; as it was, he slumped to the ground, wheezing and panting and heeheehee heeheehee-ing as though his very life depended on it.

His wife, coming back for the second milk pail, stopped in the doorway and gaped at her suffering husband. Hitching up her skirts, she rushed the rest of the way into the barn. "Jack! Jack, dearest! Whatever on earth is so funny?"

That sobered him up. Somewhat. Shaking his head quickly, he struggled to breathe instead of guffaw. The sight of one of the barn cats flicking her ear and swishing her tail only made him laugh hard once again. Tears leaking from his eyes, he heard his wife exclaim in disgust. She tried to help him up, and when that failed, she pulled the milk pail out of reach, just in case it got knocked over. sobered him up. Somewhat. Shaking his head quickly, he struggled to breathe instead of guffaw. The sight of one of the barn cats flicking her ear and swishing her tail only made him laugh hard once again. Tears leaking from his eyes, he heard his wife exclaim in disgust. She tried to help him up, and when that failed, she pulled the milk pail out of reach, just in case it got knocked over.

"Jack . . . Jack!" she snapped, giving him a disapproving look. "Stop laughing! Dandelion still needs milking, and you're getting your shirt and breeches all dirty. And what in heaven's name is so terribly hilarious?"

He shook his head, struggling for sobriety. He couldn't tell her; he honestly could not not tell a single soul. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't. Pushing upright, he dusted himself off, struggling against the occasional stray chuckle. tell a single soul. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't. Pushing upright, he dusted himself off, struggling against the occasional stray chuckle.

"Honestly!" Ellen scoffed, dusting off his backside with practical whisks of her palms. She lingered a little over his b.u.t.tocks before brushing the bits of straw from the backs of his thighs, then whapped off one last bit of chaff. "Now, what was so funny that you couldn't breathe?"

Avoiding even looking in the direction of the barn cat, Jack drew in a deep breath and let it out.

"Nothing. Nothing, my dearest." Turning, he caught her hands and kissed them. Ellen was beautiful, smart, and talented at homemaking. She could have been a governess, but had chosen to marry him and take up her share of the work required to make King's Farm one of the best dairies in western Ma.s.sachusetts. "Thank you for your help. I shall finish the milking, freshen their feed and water, and be in shortly after that to break my fast. Go on. Go make those drop biscuits I love, and the salt-pork sauce with onions."

"All right-but I expect to hear whatever this jest was," she warned him, waggling her finger.

"It was nothing, my dear. Just a stray thought, long since fled." Judging from the look she gave him, she didn't believe him, but he just kissed her on the cheek and sent her on her way with the freshly filled bucket. Claiming the one she had brought, Jack resettled the stool next to the patiently waiting heifer. A glance over his shoulder rea.s.sured him he was alone once more. Turning, he mock-glared at the cat and hissed, "That was very dangerous of you! You was very dangerous of you! You should should have waited until she'd brought back the third round of goat-milk pails and gone back in to finish breakfast." have waited until she'd brought back the third round of goat-milk pails and gone back in to finish breakfast."

The barn cat flicked her ears and her tail, and mrrrred mrrrred. Whiskers forward, she took a couple steps toward him. Or rather, the milk pail.

"I don't know why I should should, considering you almost killed me," the farmer muttered. "But . . . a bet is a bet," he sighed, before chuckling to himself. "And that was was the funniest thing I've ever heard. Come on, then-I know you didn't get it, Dandelion," he added as he carefully squeezed milk from one of her teats into his palm, before lowering his hand and offering the creamy liquid to the cat. "But a cat's sense of humor is quite different from a cow's." the funniest thing I've ever heard. Come on, then-I know you didn't get it, Dandelion," he added as he carefully squeezed milk from one of her teats into his palm, before lowering his hand and offering the creamy liquid to the cat. "But a cat's sense of humor is quite different from a cow's."

Dandelion huffed huffed and returned to chewing her cud. In the pen next to her stall, two of the nanny goats bleated, reminding him he hadn't milked them yet. Nodding, he waited until the cat finished lapping up her treat, then focused on squeeze-pulling the rest of Dandelion's milk into the new pail. and returned to chewing her cud. In the pen next to her stall, two of the nanny goats bleated, reminding him he hadn't milked them yet. Nodding, he waited until the cat finished lapping up her treat, then focused on squeeze-pulling the rest of Dandelion's milk into the new pail.

He had five dairy cattle, three with heifer calves-the bull calves having already been sold to a neighbor-six nannies with kids and a billy goat, and the two horses who pulled his plow and his wagon with equal aplomb. The horses and the billy didn't need milking, but they would need feeding. Jack had always made a point of feeding them before himself every morning and evening meal. It was something they appreciated, and something which made it that much easier to manage them. But then there was a reason why King's Farm was the best, if smallest, dairy around, and why he trusted no one but himself to be kind to his animals.

Your family has always been good to us, Jack King, the Wee Man had whispered in his ear twelve years ago. the Wee Man had whispered in his ear twelve years ago. And so the King of the Tor has chosen to grant you this gift, to help you to prosper as you make your way to the New Land. You will hear and understand the speech of all the animals that walk on the land or fly through the air, which will make you a great farmer . . . up to a point. But to have this gift at all, you must be willing to pay a terrible price. And so the King of the Tor has chosen to grant you this gift, to help you to prosper as you make your way to the New Land. You will hear and understand the speech of all the animals that walk on the land or fly through the air, which will make you a great farmer . . . up to a point. But to have this gift at all, you must be willing to pay a terrible price.

You must never never tell a single human being that you can hear and speak with the animals. At that moment, if you should ever give in to the temptation to tell another human soul, the price of this gift will be forfeit. Should you ever do so, Jack King, you shall turn to solid stone the moment your tale is through . . . tell a single human being that you can hear and speak with the animals. At that moment, if you should ever give in to the temptation to tell another human soul, the price of this gift will be forfeit. Should you ever do so, Jack King, you shall turn to solid stone the moment your tale is through . . .

It was a good thing the Wee Man had given him this gift when Jack was one-and-twenty years of age, old enough to understand the value of self-control. And he had kept it all this time, despite the temptations over the years to let others know that he knew far more than a mortal man should. Hardest of all, however, was not telling his beloved wife.

He had met the blue-eyed, black-haired beauty on a trip to Boston shortly after news reached him that the war had ended. Unlike himself, who had been born an Englishman before emigrating to the New World prior to their second war with England, she had been born and raised a colonial. And unlike most women-thanks to the d.a.m.nable war-she hadn't shunned him just because he had once been "one of them them."

Her father hadn't entirely approved, being a schoolmaster and expecting a better match for her than a mere farmer, but Jack had persevered. Ellen was bright, kind, beautiful, and strong-willed, raised with an almost libertine att.i.tude toward her education. Thanks to her father's generosity, she had the wits and the inner fire to match Jack's own. He had learned too much over the years of listening to his animals talk to believe a woman was second-cla.s.s to anyone, and he had not wanted to see her strength of will and character subdued by some overbearing suitor, the kind who would treat a marriage to her like a business proposal, a transaction, and treat her like a mere commodity. Like an animal.

Jack loved her, and he wanted to be with her for the rest of his life. The happiest day had been the day she told him she loved him deeply, with the second happiest being the day he took her as his wife. Third happiest had been the day her father had finally consented to the match, even if Jack had been born an Englishman. The days of their months-long marriage were a close fourth to all of that, a little slice of Heaven on earth. She was his wife, and she completed him.

He just couldn't tell tell her certain things, for fear it would end their happiness. Namely in a man-shaped monument for his grave. her certain things, for fear it would end their happiness. Namely in a man-shaped monument for his grave.

THE more he told her it was nothing nothing, the more his dismissal exasperated Ellen. This wasn't the first time, either. There were other times when she had caught him laughing or smiling unexpectedly, and times when he had gone quite still and intent, his gaze on one of the animals of his farm, before taking some action. Often the action was something that helped those animals; she was proud of his skill as a herdsman, his conscientious care of his animals, but sometimes . . . Well, sometimes he just went about it in a rather strange manner.

Still, he was quite smart, and when all their ch.o.r.es were done each evening, he spared no expense in keeping a few extra candles lit after supper so they could share reading pa.s.sages with each other from beloved books. It didn't matter the topic, either; he enjoyed discussing the philosophies of the likes of Calvin, and Hobbes, and the fairy tales collected by Michael Alexander Nenasheff, though Jack's French was worse than hers and they sometimes stumbled their way through the tales with a healthy sense of good humor.

With any other husband, she might not have been allowed such a thing. Ellen knew she would have been expected to tend to her husband's needs first and her own desires second. Jack was different, however; he was a man with a liberated mind. Other women might have looked down upon him for being a mere dairy farmer, but he was so much more to her.

Which, I suppose, is why his reticence on certain subjects is so vexing. Glaring at him over the supper table, three days after hearing his shouts and his guffaws, his giggles and wheezes, she could not help but continue to press the matter. "I don't understand, Jack. Glaring at him over the supper table, three days after hearing his shouts and his guffaws, his giggles and wheezes, she could not help but continue to press the matter. "I don't understand, Jack. Why Why can't you tell me what made you laugh? It had to have been the most spectacular jest in the world to have made you laugh so hard. And don't tell me you don't remember it. Everyone remembers what made them laugh the hardest!" can't you tell me what made you laugh? It had to have been the most spectacular jest in the world to have made you laugh so hard. And don't tell me you don't remember it. Everyone remembers what made them laugh the hardest!"

"I told told you. It was just a pa.s.sing thought, long since forgotten," he repeated patiently, gesturing with his fork. He used to eat left-handed like an Englishman, but in the effort to seem more American, he had managed to make the switch. The original war for independence was long over, as well as the second war with England, which had ended a few years ago, but it didn't pay to advertise one's foreign origins too closely even now. you. It was just a pa.s.sing thought, long since forgotten," he repeated patiently, gesturing with his fork. He used to eat left-handed like an Englishman, but in the effort to seem more American, he had managed to make the switch. The original war for independence was long over, as well as the second war with England, which had ended a few years ago, but it didn't pay to advertise one's foreign origins too closely even now.

She set down her own fork. "Well, I cannot cannot believe it. I refuse to! Dearest, as much as I love you, some of the things you do are just . . . utterly inexplicable! And to keep believe it. I refuse to! Dearest, as much as I love you, some of the things you do are just . . . utterly inexplicable! And to keep denying denying that you laughed over something so cunningly funny . . . I feel like I'm being ignored. Like I'm being shut out of your life as . . . as someone unimportant." that you laughed over something so cunningly funny . . . I feel like I'm being ignored. Like I'm being shut out of your life as . . . as someone unimportant."

Jack winced at that. Ellen knew she was pressing hard by putting it so, but she really did feel that way. One of the things he had sworn to her was that he would always take her thoughts and feelings as seriously as his own. She didn't want want to say it, but she felt like she had to say it. to say it, but she felt like she had to say it.

Reaching across the table toward his hand, she gave him a helpless look. "Jack, my darling . . . I feel as if you're treating me like a silly female, without a thought in my head capable of comprehending whatever made you laugh. You know know I can!" I can!"

"I am not trying to slight your intelligence, darling," he replied, setting down his fork long enough to cover her outstretched hand, "but I cannot cannot tell you what made me laugh. So please, for my sake, stop asking." tell you what made me laugh. So please, for my sake, stop asking."

"No, I shan't stop asking," Ellen pressed as he picked up his fork again. "You are hiding something from me, and you have always always been hiding something from me. I can see it now." That was a slight exaggeration . . . or it had been, until she saw the faint flash of guilt on his face. The pinkening of his cheeks and the sidling of his gaze which couldn't quite meet hers for a moment. "You been hiding something from me. I can see it now." That was a slight exaggeration . . . or it had been, until she saw the faint flash of guilt on his face. The pinkening of his cheeks and the sidling of his gaze which couldn't quite meet hers for a moment. "You are are hiding something from me!" hiding something from me!"

"Have done, Ellen! What What could I possibly be hiding from you?" he demanded. "Think about that! I have shared with you my life, my heart, and my thoughts. And if I should find a funny thought running through my head, if you are there, then I should tell you about it. If it is of a gentlemanly nature, of course. But if you are could I possibly be hiding from you?" he demanded. "Think about that! I have shared with you my life, my heart, and my thoughts. And if I should find a funny thought running through my head, if you are there, then I should tell you about it. If it is of a gentlemanly nature, of course. But if you are not not-and you were not were not there at that time-then once it has pa.s.sed, why should I share it? Some jests are amusing there at that time-then once it has pa.s.sed, why should I share it? Some jests are amusing only only in the moment in which they occur and cannot be shared once that moment and its context have pa.s.sed! In this case, that moment has pa.s.sed for sharing the jest, and we need to move on to other things. in the moment in which they occur and cannot be shared once that moment and its context have pa.s.sed! In this case, that moment has pa.s.sed for sharing the jest, and we need to move on to other things.

"Now, I intend to go to town tomorrow with the latest of the ripened cheeses. If you will remember, the mayor's wife asked for us to bring her some more of the herbed goat cheese when it was ready. She mentioned something about entertaining relatives visiting from Providence in the next week," he reminded her. "Do you think you could pick out five of the most flavorful cheeses from the well house cellar in the morning? I think she might enjoy some of the ones with the savory and chive, since you have a wonderful hand when it comes to flavoring those."

If her husband thought the subject was dropped, he was mistaken. Ellen allowed him to redirect the conversation for now, but she wouldn't forget it. Nor would she forget that little flash of guilt she had seen. She had not imagined that. Nor would she let him forget that she didn't believe for a moment that he he had forgotten the source of his laughter. had forgotten the source of his laughter.

She would not not be shut out of his life. She would be shut out of his life. She would not not be treated like a simpleton-or dismissed like a mere girl! be treated like a simpleton-or dismissed like a mere girl!

THUNK. "Here's your milk pail! Have you anything to say to me, or have you forgotten forgotten it?" it?"

Biting back the urge to groan, Jack finished pulling on the nanny's teats with a few more ripples of his fingers and traded the full metal pail for the empty one she had brought. "Enough, woman! It has been a full week. You didn't even rest on the Lord's Day. Must you go on about this forever?"

"You promised promised you would treat me as an equal when we married, Jack King," Ellen retorted, all but sloshing the goat's milk out of the pail as she s.n.a.t.c.hed it up by its handle. "Yet here you are, dismissing the simplest of my requests! What kind of a man have I married, that you would go back on your word to your wife? you would treat me as an equal when we married, Jack King," Ellen retorted, all but sloshing the goat's milk out of the pail as she s.n.a.t.c.hed it up by its handle. "Yet here you are, dismissing the simplest of my requests! What kind of a man have I married, that you would go back on your word to your wife? What What are you are you hiding hiding from me?" from me?"

"Leave it be, Ellen!" he ordered tersely. Not that he had much hope of that; she had nagged him for a solid week now.

"How can I? How can I ever trust you again? You promised you would share your life with me, but you won't share whatever it is you are hiding! How can I live with a man who has lied to me?" she challenged him. "Tell me the truth, Jack King! If you ever loved me, tell me the truth!"

She just would not let it go. These last seven days were rapidly turning into the worst of his life. For the last three nights, she had not responded to his advances in their marriage bed. Not being of a nature to force the issue, Jack had spent each night in restless misery.

"What am I to do, Husband?" Ellen asked him pointedly. "Am I to . . . to have a good reason to stay here, confident that you love and trust me? Or am I to believe-without cause to support otherwise-that you do not not trust me with your life? And if I cannot have your trust and share with you all the aspects of your life, what then? What then . . . but to go home to my father? trust me with your life? And if I cannot have your trust and share with you all the aspects of your life, what then? What then . . . but to go home to my father? He He, at least, never held back the truth from me!"

Her threat made him pale. Ellen . . . leaving me? Ellen . . . leaving me? It was almost inconceivable. He loved her! He could not envision a day of his life without her. It was almost inconceivable. He loved her! He could not envision a day of his life without her. I might as well be dead, than to not have her by my side . . . but . . . G.o.d in Heaven and the Wee Folk of the Tor, if I I might as well be dead, than to not have her by my side . . . but . . . G.o.d in Heaven and the Wee Folk of the Tor, if I don't don't tell her, she'll leave me and I'll die . . . but if I tell her, she'll leave me and I'll die . . . but if I do do tell her, I'll die anyway! King of the Tor, why did you tell her, I'll die anyway! King of the Tor, why did you curse curse me with this gift? me with this gift?

He was too far from the Tor to expect an answer, of course, being on the other side of an entire ocean.

His wife took his anguished silence for stubbornness. A soft sniff made him look at her. She stood gazing at him with tear-bright blue eyes and a trembling lower lip, but with her chin lifted high. "Very well, then. I shall pack and leave first thing in the morn."

No! Everything within him clenched at that idea. Broke at that idea. Shaking his head, Jack found his voice. "No! No . . . I'll tell you." Everything within him clenched at that idea. Broke at that idea. Shaking his head, Jack found his voice. "No! No . . . I'll tell you."

She didn't smile in triumph, but neither did the tears fall from her eyes. Ellen held herself still, almost as if breathing would make him change his mind . . . or make her change hers about staying to listen. There was just one problem with telling her immediately; Jack didn't want his final moments to be spent in the barn, of all places.

"I will will tell you. Tonight," he promised. "I will tell you everything. tell you. Tonight," he promised. "I will tell you everything. But But," he cautioned, "I want no arguments out of you, and no nagging, and no unpleasantness-and no mention of packing up and going to your father. No fighting, no recriminations . . . just the rest of this day spent as peacefully and lovingly as possible. Will you promise me that?"

She blinked at him, as if unsure she had heard him right, but nodded slowly all the same. "A peaceful, quiet day . . . I suppose. But why can't you tell me right now?"

A glimpse of the barn cat who had started this mess gave him the inspiration he needed. Managing something of a smile, Jack offered, "Well, now, I could hardly tell you what the joke was when both of us are angry and upset. It just wouldn't be the same, would it?

"Come here . . . my love," he offered, struggling to hold back his anguish at those two little words. Thankfully, she accepted his outstretched hand. As much as he wanted to take her into their house to make love to her, he still had two more goats to milk, hay to pitch, and water to draw from the well. He kissed her knuckles, then pressed her palm to his cheek. "Just remember for the rest of this day that I do do love you. With all the life left in my body, I love you that much . . . and so much more." love you. With all the life left in my body, I love you that much . . . and so much more."

She flushed. Only the bleating of the half-milked nanny goat, Parsley, broke their tableau. Taking the full milk pail with her, Ellen retreated from the barn. Once she had gone, Jack was free to bow his head in pain. There was nothing he could do to stop the inevitable, one way or another.

The nanny bleated again, irritating him. Lifting his head, he glared at her. "No, I will not not let her do that! I don't care if it spares me my life to have her return to her father and leave me alone. let her do that! I don't care if it spares me my life to have her return to her father and leave me alone. She She is my life-Keep your bleating to yourself!" he added as Parsley protested again. "I'll have the rest of this day to make perfect, and I'll is my life-Keep your bleating to yourself!" he added as Parsley protested again. "I'll have the rest of this day to make perfect, and I'll not not have you spoiling it in any way." have you spoiling it in any way."

Sweeping the other animals a firm look, he finished with a glare at the cat.

"As for you you . . . I'm beginning to feel like I should have drowned . . . I'm beginning to feel like I should have drowned you you at birth. You have at birth. You have ruined ruined my marriage and brought about the my marriage and brought about the end end of my life. If you want me to be kind to you for the rest of this day, then get out of my sight!" of my life. If you want me to be kind to you for the rest of this day, then get out of my sight!"

Wisely, the cat scampered out of the barn.

Turning back to the nanny goat, Jack positioned the emptied pail and began milking the last of the liquid from her udder, careful to keep his rippling strokes firm and purposeful, but not bruising. He would not end his last day on earth by abusing his animals. However much Parsley's suggestion to let his wife leave with her questions unanswered might vex him, he would not hurt her.

TWICE over breakfast, she opened her mouth to ask him to tell her now, because the wait until evening seemed interminable. Each time, he discerned her intention and narrowed his eyes in silent warning. Subsiding each time, Ellen sought for something else to say.

"The weather seems to be quite good; will you be cutting hay in the southwest field today?" she finally asked, adding a dollop of honey to one of her b.u.t.termilk-raised biscuits. "I planned to do some weeding in the herb garden, then perhaps collect some wood from the forest this afternoon. I know we have plenty of logs left from the winter to see us through most of the summer, but I was thinking of gathering bits and pieces for tinder and kindling, for which we're running low."

"No. Today . . . I would like us to do something different," Jack stated slowly. His blue eyes looked troubled, though his words were remarkably romantic. Even for him. "I would like to spend the rest of today with you going over every memory we've ever made together. From the very first moment I saw you in Boston, looking so lovely in your bonnet and pelisse, laughing at some jest, to the . . . to the way you look, all flushed and dreamy, yet fiery at the same time when I hold you in my arms at night."

Ellen blushed. She searched again for something to say. A faint noise distracted her. Frowning, she tried to pinpoint it.

"I still remember quite clearly the day we met, my love," Jack continued earnestly. "I thought you-"

"Shh." Lifting her hand, she silenced her husband. Turning her head, she strained to hear. Yes . . . I think there's some sort of disturbance outside Yes . . . I think there's some sort of disturbance outside.

"Ellen?" Jack asked, frowning.

The noise was growing. "Can't you hear that? There's something outside-Jack, I think something is disturbing the animals in the barn!"

He bolted up from his breakfast, and from its place of pride over the mantel he s.n.a.t.c.hed his Springfield musket, which she knew he always kept carefully oiled, loaded and ready out of habit from the days of the second war with England. Never having been of the temperament to cower in a corner, Ellen rose as well, moving to one of the kitchen cupboards and s.n.a.t.c.hing up her wedding gift from an elderly aunt, a solid, marble-carved rolling pin. It was the sort of weapon guaranteed to brain anything that threatened her, whether it stalked on two legs or four.

Hurrying after her husband, she followed him outside, where the bleating and bawling of the goats could now clearly be heard. She almost ran into Jack as she hastened inside, for he had inexplicably stopped just a few feet within the door. Peering around his broadcloth-covered shoulders, she spotted the reason for the commotion.

Their one billy goat was b.u.t.ting and biting and chasing one of the nannies around and around their feeding stall. Cowslip bawled and charged, and Parsley bleated and dodged. When she finally tried to escape out through the open half door into the pasture, he cut her off with a savage whirl and kick which flung her off her hooves. Stunned, the poor nanny lay tumbled on her side, dazed and bleating weakly, her summer-short wool scruffed and slowly reddening from the blood welling out of two sc.r.a.pes Cowslip had made.

"Jack! Stop them! Cowslip's gone mad!" she begged, tugging on her immobile husband's arm.

Cowslip snorted and bleated, then looked their way. He bleated twice again, snorted, and trotted outside, leaving Parsley huddled shivering in the hay, her head half buried in the stalks.

"Jack! Aren't you going to do something?" Ellen demanded, tugging on his shirtsleeve.

"Yes, I am." Handing her the rifle, he entered the stall and crouched over the cowering goat, checking her wounds. "Just the two sc.r.a.pes, and some tender bruises," Ellen heard him murmur after a few moments.

He gently prodded the nanny's side. Parsley bleated, then shook her head. Jack sighed roughly.

"Well, you have no broken bones, so you'll heal." Rising, he came out of the stall, taking the rifle back from Ellen. "Find some clean cloths. I'll fetch the bottle of spirits and clean her wound to keep out an infection while you see to the tidying of the breakfast things."

"What about Cowslip, Jack?" Ellen asked, hurrying to keep up with his long strides as he headed for the house.

"What about him?" There was an odd, grim edge to his voice. She wasn't sure what to make of it. He looked handsome, as he always did with his golden brown hair and blue eyes, but there was something rather stern, almost authoritarian about him just now. Ellen wasn't sure if she liked it.

"Well . . . he's mad!" she offered, doing her best to keep up with his long, purposeful strides. "Attacking poor Parsley like that . . . !"