Wildest Dreams (Fantasyland #1)(23)

I heated some water, washed a bit at the basin in the bathroom space and pulled on some undergarments, cashmere stockings attached to garters and a long, dusty pink, soft wool knit dress that clung everywhere, had a scooped neckline, some serious cle**age (by the way, all my dresses had serious cle**age, this was the way they were made, this was what my underwear also made when I strapped it on and, it had to be said, natural cle**age was the way I was made) and long flowing sleeves that belled out at the wrists. I pulled my hair back from my face with a pink satin ribbon, tied the long, matching knit belt so it hung low on my hips, touched some perfume behind my ears and at my wrists and headed to the kitchen to make Penelope a late breakfast and her Momma some brunch.

Penelope was on all fours, belly to the floor and had her face in a bowl of leftover chicken I’d warmed by setting it on the stove when the backdoor opened, Frey Drakkar prowled through and then he stopped dead when he saw me.

I took him in.

A first, no knives or sword. Another first, his hair was partially wet. He’d also shaved. Someone had visited the hot spring.

Hmm.

It must be said, I kind of liked the beard.

As I took him in, I realized I kept forgetting how big he was. By then, I was used to that kitchen. It wasn’t mammoth but it wasn’t small either.

With him in it, it seemed tiny.

His eyes were on me standing at the butcher block whisking pancake batter. I watched them go down the length of me he could see then they went up.

I swallowed.

Then I said, “Hi.”

My word activated him, he moved in, swung his arm around that I hadn’t noticed was carrying a large stick over his shoulder and he plonked the dead carcass of a small (what looked like a baby) deer on the kitchen table.

I blinked.

Then I gagged.

Then I controlled my urge to hurl, pulled in breath and looked from the dead deer to him.

“Uh… I have a rule. No dead game on the kitchen table.”

His green-brown eyes held mine. He didn’t speak. He also didn’t move.

Okay, ignore big dead animal carcass and move on, Finnie, I told myself.

I searched for a good strategy. Then I hoped I found it.

“I… well, um… I just wanted to say, uh… before I forget, thanks for stoking the fire upstairs and keeping me warm while I slept in,” I said, thinking that was nice, noticing and commenting on something he did that was nice.

He crossed his arms on his chest and studied me.

All righty then.

“You, um, came home last night after having a few,” I noted, got no response, I waited just in case his brain didn’t work as fast as mine, still got no response so I continued. “You look okay. I hope you aren’t hungover.”

Nothing.

Okay. Right.

“Would you like pancakes? I’m making a late breakfast of pancakes and bacon.” More nothing. “Uh… if you want to eat, you’ll have to remove the dead animal.”

Finally, a semi-response. He picked up the deer, opened the backdoor and flung it on the back porch where it landed with a sickening thud.

I winced.

Eek!

He closed the door.

“Thanks,” I whispered.

He walked toward me, I braced then he walked by me, grabbed the handle of the kettle then prowled out of the room.

I relaxed.

Then I set about wiping down the table (doing this mostly with my eyes closed then, still with my eyes closed and finding it with arms in front of me walking like a mummy, I threw the cloth out the backdoor) after which I put the slices of bacon I’d already cut into the warming skillet.

He came back while I was fiddling with the pancakes in one skillet and moving the bacon around in another one. He stalked right up to me, slammed the kettle down on the stove, grabbed the percolator, poured himself a hot mug o’ joe and then stalked to the table where he sat down, one knee bent, one leg sprawled, king of his rustic-chic cabin, eyes on me.

Dear Lord.

In silence and with a one man audience, I finished the food, served it up, slapped slabs of butter on the warm pancakes and it started melting. Then I turned toward the table. I put a plate in front of him, one in front of my seat then I went to the cupboards to get honey and silverware. I gave him his, set mine at my place and put the honey on the table. Then I moved across the kitchen to warm up my coffee and I sat down, poured honey all over my pancakes, put it on the table and pushed it in his direction.

Then I tucked in.

I saw him reach for the honey then I heard the jug hit the table then I heard him start to eat.

I looked at him. Then I tried again.

“Frey, I think we need to talk.”

His brown-green eyes came to me. Then his eyebrows rose. Then he shoved a gigantic bite of pancake in his mouth.

I took the eyebrow raise as a, “Yes, Seoafin? What would you like to discuss?”

“I’m not a lesbian,” I blurted for some completely unhinged reason and those raised brows shot together in a scary way.

He chewed, swallowed and growled his first word to me of the day, “What?”

“I’m not a lesbian.”

Words two and three came in quick succession. “A what?”

Oh. Maybe they didn’t have the term lesbian here.

“I… uh,” Damn you, Sjofn! “I don’t prefer um… my own sex.”