Viola Grace - Sisters of Silverwood 03 - Finding Fiona, page 5
The dog on the bed simply wagged his tail.
Mythos approached with a wheelchair and the dog growled at it. “Abax, she cannot walk out of the infirmary. Her feet are too tender.”
Fiona knew what he would do, “Ladies, you 60
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had best get away from the bed. My ride is here.”
She spoke not a moment too soon. The dog jumped from the bed and the unicorn was standing next to her.
Ander walked toward the bed and the steed stood aside. “Fiona, it’s time to go.” He lifted her carefully from the bed and settled her on Abax’s back, sideways to spare her feet being knocked around.
The unicorn immediately began a stately pace out the door and down the hallway, the steady clack of his hooves rang on the tile.
Ander walked in front of them and stepped into the sun an instant before they did. As soon as they had made their way into the bright light of the new day, he leapt gracefully to Abax’s back behind her. He lifted her onto his lap and off they went.
The town of Silverwood was well organized, the central buildings—library, infirmary, town hall—were tucked into the middle of the town and the branches of houses ran from this central hub.
Silverwood was a wheel and Ander lived on one of the spokes.
His home was a well-tended Victorian with a large garage and a stable in the yard out back. He was on about three acres of land and the spring in Abax’s feet told of his happiness to be home.
He walked right up to the steps and let them off.
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Ander carefully dismounted with her in his arms.
It was when he was settling her on the couch with her feet propped on a footstool, she remembered the gash on his back. “Ander! What are you doing carrying me around? You must have opened your shoulder.”
“No. I am nearly healed. Mythos is a wonderful healer.”
She watched him disappear into the kitchen and the noises of running water and a clatter of dishes let her know what he was doing. It was lunchtime. He was cooking.
Oh, lord. A drool-worthy guy who could fight, make love, believed in foreplay without penetration, and could cook. She was in trouble.
Again.
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Finding Fiona
Chapter 12
nder’s guestroom was well appointed, it had Aevery amenity. And it was in the tower nearest the stable. She could watch Abax graze and frolic with some of the other steeds all she wished. The others all kept to pure horse forms, not the flashy unicorn of her buddy. He had a certain style that just made her smile.
She had noted when she was in the living room that there were scars from dog claws on the hardwood. Apparently he was a frequent visitor for Ander as well. For now, the steed was frolicking amongst his own kind and regaling them with whatever they talked about. If they talked at all.
“How are you doing this morning, stir crazy yet?”
Ander was coming up the stairs with a tray and she could hear footsteps behind him, light and feminine. Westa, Valentine and Hannah were all with him and took up chairs in her sitting room.
“The ladies have brought some files for you to 63
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peruse. So, time to start you new job.”
He deposited the tea tray in front of her, then leaned in to kiss her lightly on the lips. Her feet were still bandaged, but Mythos was scheduled for a visit this afternoon.
“Behave and play nice with the other ladies.”
She made a face at him and waved him off.
“Good afternoon. Time to earn my keep. Could one of you pour me some tea?”
Westa picked up the pot. “Of course. It is nice to see that you and Ander are still getting along.”
“I don’t have much of a choice. He pretty well has to deliver me to anywhere I want to go. I can’t even make it to the ladies room without him knowing and picking me up, then reading me the riot act.”
“Injuries of the feet are always difficult.” Val spoke with the wisdom of someone who lived with a physician.
“Tell me about it. So, ladies. What would you like me to do?”
They broke it down. With Westa’s luck and Valentine’s ability to sense a match, they had found matches for several of the males. What Fiona needed to do was to take the information they gathered and to find the physical location of the woman in question. Once that was done, Hannah would take over and get all the small details of her life, like where she lived and what she did for a living.
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“Okay. Let me have the first file.” They handed her a non-descript file of plain kraft brown. Inside however, it was nothing more than magical. Myron Northiwyk was an elf with some ogre heritage, looking for a wife in the Pacific Northwest. He wanted some freedom to roam and woman who enjoyed the outdoors. A generous spirit would be good, as well as acceptance from the human that he mated with.
Valentine and Westa had come up with his match. Nora Wyngate. She was smart, adventurous, had a loving heart and family in the northwest. She loved tall men with accents and broad shoulders.
A pen was suddenly in Fiona’s hand. Nora Wyngate. She ran her fingers over the name and suddenly her mind was blurring through pathways she could not even imagine. She did not see the woman, she just saw her location. It was how her talent worked. “I think I have it.” She looked down and was surprised to see the street address, city and state listed on the paper, beneath the name in a separate pen colour. The colour of the pen in her hand.
“That was fantastic Fiona! Perfect.”
“I will call it perfect when I find out if she is truly the one for him.” She handed the folder to Hannah who was holding her hand out for it.
“My turn.” Her hand held a pencil and she closed her eyes as she ran her fingers over the 65
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writings of the other ladies. For long moments she was motionless, then began to draw. A woman with plain but dependable features was taking shape, she had a twinkle in her eye and the start of a smile on the edge of her mouth. With the face smiling, she went from plain to lovely.
Hannah documented addresses beneath the picture. Places of business, places of amusement.
In another ten minutes, and one more cup of tea for Fiona, Hannah was back in her body and looking at her handy work. “She’s pretty. If he can make his case, he will be one lucky ogre. Fiona.
Your work was exact. Not only was the address correct, but the path you took was left open enough for me to get through. Nice one.”
“You followed my pathway? Cool. Shall we do another?”
The ladies grinned at her. “It is addictive isn’t it?”
“It is. Let’s do some matchmaking.” She rubbed her hands together. Until she was back on her feet, this was as good as it got.
* * * *
“Well, Fiona. Your feet are almost healed.” Mythos was peeling her bandages off and, if she weren’t head over heels for another elf, he would have made her heart swell ever so slightly. He was adorable. Soft golden curls, mocha skin and tender 66
Finding Fiona
green eyes, the colour of leaves. He could have stepped out of a tree and put on some clothing.
She hadn’t seen his file, but Fiona suspected that was the closest anyone would come to his origin.
“That is fantastic. When can I start walking?
Today?”
“You will have to be careful and confine your walking to the home for three more days, but if you rest every two hours and don’t stay on your feet if they start to hurt, you should be fine.” He was washing his hands in a basin and the assistant he had brought with him took the shredded bandages with him. A nod from her healer and she was alone.
She bent her knees and took a look at her very pink feet. Red stripes ran in random patterns across them, but the skin was intact and there were no more open wounds on either her feet or her calves. She was just in the rather involved process of standing when Ander came in through the door to the sitting room.
“So, he has given you leave to wander around and toughen your feet up?”
“He has indeed. Yippee. I am trying to decide where to go first. The living room or the kitchen?”
“How about the master bedroom?”
There was a heat in Ander’s eyes that woke and answering flame low in her belly. “Um. I haven’t been in there yet. It might be a good place to start the tour.” She walked slowly and carefully 67
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toward the door and after that the stairs.
Ander walked with her the whole way.
The smooth wood under her feet was almost warm, it had absorbed the heat from the earlier sun and was radiating it gently into the bottom of her soles. She had expected Ander to try and carry her off, but he simply paced next to her, occasionally extending his arm to her so she could balance.
His bedroom was the final goal. She had no idea of where she wanted to go after that, but she wanted to see his room. It was light and airy. Oak and cream. The surprising touches were a blue and violet splashed pillow on his bed and a comforter in matching colours folded at the foot of the four-poster.
She hobbled to the side of his bed and asked,
“May I sit?”
“Of course. Are your feet sore?”
“A little. More of a throb than a pain.”
“I am having that problem myself.”
“What?”
He ran a hand across his obvious erection behind its denim prison. “More of a throb than a pain.”
“Ah.” With her hands braced behind her, she hopped up into his bed. It was as if she had given him some signal, because he gripped her ankles and rotated her so that her head was on the pillow. He bounced into bed next to her, still fully 68
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clothed.
“Do you like it?”
“What? The bed. Yes. It is very nice.”
“No, the house.”
“Of course I do. I love living in a turret.” Her smile was genuine.
“I had hoped that would be the case. When we were given styles to choose from, we had to guess at what the ladies would like.”
“I like your house.” She used her hands to cup his face and drew him down for her kiss. “I like you. And I want to try to feel you in me, on me and around me without our lives being at stake.”
His eyes flared with heat, “I have been imagining you in a bed. Naked, dressed in nothing but your hair and my kisses.”
“That sounds good. Go with that.” He was already undoing her shirt and unsnapping her trousers. “Will you be naked as well?”
“Eventually. I have to pace myself or I will explode.”
“What a shame. How long would it be before you could go again?”
“A quarter of an hour or so.”
“Well then. By all means, pace yourself.” He was delicately tracing the tips of her breasts with his fingers, learning her body as the experience in the cave had not let him do. She closed her eyes and let one sensation after another wash over her.
His lips at her breasts, trailing up her neck, 69
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while his fingers learned her crevices and folds along with the curves of her hips and thighs. She didn’t lift a finger. This time he was going to do all the work. Her body began to rise and fall with the strokes of his fingers and, all too soon, she was crying out her completion.
So, he had to start again.
This time. His clothes came off before he started and every inch of her body was stroked and caressed in its turn, building the recently banked fires of arousal far more quickly than she imagined possible.
When she was once more arching against his hands, he moved over her. And waited. And waited. Finally, she opened her eyes and met his dark gaze with all seriousness as he drove inside of her with short thrusts that allowed her body to adjust more rapidly. As soon as she closed her eyes, he stopped.
It was a pattern that he followed in the next hour. Every time she closed her eyes. He stopped.
Mid thrust, while turning her on her side, but twisting her so he could watch her eyes, he would stop.
The only exception was while she was in the grip of her orgasms, he would continue then. She was exhausted and drained, but he was glowing.
As he began his final flurry of thrusts, she almost sobbed with relief. When he came and his own eyes rolled back as he arched and spent within 70
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her, she felt like cheering. Sometimes, too much was more than enough.
* * * *
She couldn’t sleep. He was still bringing a new meaning to afterglow. Ander gripped her shoulder and turned her toward him. “Fiona Matthews, will you marry me?”
Exhausted, delighted, in love and still practical, “If I say yes, will you want to make love right away again?”
“Probably.”
He nudged her when she closed her eyes.
“Well?”
“I’ll tell you in the morning. After tea, or perhaps on a walk to city hall. I don’t want you to get over stimulated.” His delighted laughter made her smile. Now she could sleep. And, as she started drifting off, she felt him slip a ring onto her finger. Just before sleep claimed her, she heard his whisper soft at her ear.
“Thank you for finding me, Fiona.”
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About the Author
Viola Grace was born in Manitoba, Canada where she still resides today. She really likes it there. Her hobbies have included cross-stitch, needlepoint, quilting, costuming, cake decorating, baking, cooking, metalwork, beading, sculpting, painting, doll making, henna tattoos, chain maille, and a few others that have been forgotten.
Her writing actively pursues the Happily Ever After that so rarely occurs in nature. A brilliant mind, with a twisted sense of humor.
Viola can be reached at this email: viola@violagrace.com
Viola’s website is located at: http://www.violagrace.com
Viola Grace, Viola Grace - Sisters of Silverwood 03 - Finding Fiona
