Chapter 64 – April’s Tears #15
Chapter 64 – April’s Tears #15
JAMES
And as it does this time of year, April’s shower clears, the sun comes out and it's a glorious day, with
everything Spring has to offer. Technically, we may be still in April, but it seems May has decided to
arrive early.
Trees and hedgerows wave in the fresh breeze, flourishing frothing blossom like hands applauding the
sky. Close by the hedges, the hum and buzz and burr of insect life all but drowns out the birdsong.
The birds themselves flit one way and another, ferrying twigs and grasses. Some of the more
enterprising raid the stable for horsehair, tugging it loose from crevices and crannies, trailing it behind
like some sort of bridal veil as they fly to nests-in-progress.
And my flame-haired mermaid is there, in the stable. She’s roughly dressed, in jeans and gumboots.
The filled wheelbarrow and the pitchfork says she’s already mucked out. Her back to me as she
grooms Charlie, she hums something I don’t recognise but which captures the Spring Glory perfectly:
bright and joyful. Oliver, his coat smooth and gleaming, snatches a tuft of hay from the rake, chewing it
with a sound like a caterpillar tap-dancing.
Leaning against the door jamb, I wait for Charlotte to notice me, watching her work. Charlie nickers
approval as her mistress sweeps through gritty hair, whisking away dirt and hayseeds. “Like that, do
you?” Charlotte chuckles as the mare backs into the stiffly bristled brush. “Want a good scratch?”
Working harder with the brush, she scrubs at caked-on mud. Oliver snorts a protest, shoving his head
at her, demanding his share of the attention. Charlotte staggers as he jostles her, swatting back at him.
“Back off you big galumph. You’ve had your turn.” Returning to teasing out a tangle of burrs in the
mare’s tail, she hums her ditty as Charlie blows air in appreciation.
She’s lost in her work. I’m not going to be noticed. “You sound happy.”
Charlotte startles… “Master…” …then flashes me a smile over her shoulder. “Yes, I have a lot to be
happy about, don’t I.”
Charlie tosses her head to me in greeting. Oliver, ears swivelling forward, stamps and shifts, keen to be
out. I move close in from behind. Laying my hands on Charlotte’s shoulders, I kiss into her lovely neck.
“True. Ready to take them out?”
“Just about. I’ve almost done here. Where shall we go?”
“I have a spot in mind.” I reach down, lay a palm over her stomach. “A nice gentle amble in view of your
condition. No trotting...” She flashes another sunburst smile... “… What d’you think about a picnic?”
“Sounds lovely. All of us? Beth and Richard. Michael. The kids?”
“I was hoping just you and me. Now that you're safely expecting again, I thought perhaps we might
spend some time together?”
Her smile blooms. “I'd like that. Um… What about Cara?”
“She’s with Michael somewhere. He said he had a surprise for her.”
Her eyes widen. “A surprise?”
“No idea. But he seemed keen to show her something. In any case, she’s in good hands. He’s probably
taking her on his rounds in the hotel.”
“He wasn’t dressed for that. He looked more as though he was going to work in the garden.”
“Whatever he’s doing, Cara’s fine. You and I can have some privacy.”
“Sounds lovely. I’ll go change my clothes and then make up our picnic.”
“No need. I’ve already done it. We’re good to go as soon as you are. You get changed. I’ll saddle up.”
Her eyes glint. “You had this planned.”
“So I did. Go get changed. And…” I cock an eye to the muck-barrow… “Have a quick shower.”
*****
I know exactly where I’m taking her: the gentlest of walks over our mountain meadows. Oliver protests
the easy pace, wanting to be away, but I rein him in. I’ll give him a good gallop when I’m not with my
pregnant mermaid. She’s dressed sensibly, in jeans and tee-shirt, her hair in a long braid from under
her helmet, glinting copper in the sunlight. Ambling along, saddlebags packed with our picnic, we make
our way along high narrow paths tramped through the turf by generations of sheep.
And now, overlooking the water far below, the breeze fresh against the heated sun, I rein in. “Here we
are.”
Charlotte follows my lead, drawing up Charlie to stand side by side with her son. “Master, is this where
we…?”
“I wondered if you’d recognise it. Yes, it’s where I brought you when we first met, that second day, after
the auction. Our first picnic.”
“That was the day you introduced me to Michael.”
“So it was.”
Saddlebags unloaded, a fallen tree, the victim of a lightning strike, provides a handy tethering point.
Reins looped loosely around the stub of snapped-off branches, our mounts have room to graze and to
sun themselves.
Charlotte and I spread tablecloth and blankets over a sward as green as the Spring itself. I wanted this
to be special. Charlotte can’t have champagne now, but I packed a bottle of the elderflower fizz she’s
fond of. And finger foods: tiny bite-sized sandwiches, cherry tomatoes and crudités, strawberries and
blueberries.
Sitting on our shared blanket, she tugs off her boots and socks, wriggling her toes. “God, that’s better.”
Oliver and Charlie stand nose to tail, heads low, tails flicking. Oliver stands with one hind leg cocked as
he dozes in the sunshine, occasionally shifting his weight to cock the other hoof.
Charlotte shades her eyes against the sun. “Do you think we should let them out to pasture? Now the
Summer’s coming.”
I pluck at the thin mountainside turf. Clipped short by sheep and rabbits, dotted with wildflowers,
indeed, more wildflower than grass, there’s no sign it’s ever been fertilised. “The grazing should be fine.
Not too rich. Any history of laminitis in the bloodline? From when they were on the farm?”
“No, I don’t think so. I can call Eleanor and check, but she bought Charlie as breeding stock. She was
pretty careful about checking if they come from a lami-prone line.”
“Give her a call then. If Eleanor gives the all-clear, we’ll let them graze. Otherwise, we can strip graze
or muzzle them.”
“Sounds good. I’ll do that.” She sighs, settles back into the nook of my arm. “This was a good idea.”
After a while, “Master…?”
“Hmmm?”
“Cara’s growing up to call Michael ‘Daddy’, and you ‘Uncle Jamie’. You’re sure you’re alright with that?”
“I’m absolutely fine with that. Michael and I agreed it long ago. It protects Cara…” I point to her
stomach… “…and any others, while they grow up. One Mommy. One Daddy. Society’s broken through
a lot of the barriers: gay marriage, mixed-race marriage, but the three-cornered marriage isn’t among
them yet.” NôvelDrama.Org copyrighted © content.
“What do we tell them when they’re older?”
“Plenty of families have children from several marriages all mixed in. They’ll be used to that idea. Ours
is merely a little closer than the others. We can explain it that way, when they’re older.”
She nods, her expression distracted. “How private do you think we are here?”
I swing one way then the other on our completely exposed and open mountain viewpoint. “Not nearly
private enough. I, for one, don’t want to be arrested for public indecency.”
She chuckles. “Fair point.” She scans our surroundings, then stretches out an arm. “How about there?”
It’s probably a sheep shelter, perhaps somewhere that hay or winter feed is stored. But it’s isolated and
there’s almost zero possibility we’d be interrupted. Charlotte’s eyes gleam green. “What d’you think?”
“I think it wouldn’t be as warm and comfortable as I’d like it. And I remember hay barns from when I
was a teenager. There was always something prickling at you someplace tender. We’ll go home, then I
can spread you wide and tie you to the perfectly good bed we have there.”
She chuckles, and the green gleam grows to a sparkle.
*****
CHARLOTTE
The house is quiet when we return. My Master cocks an ear for a moment. “Sounds as though
everyone’s out…” He smiles that non-smile that is all his. And all mine.
Levering off his boots, he motions for me to do the same then, his hand offered, leads me up the stairs.
In the bedroom, he clicks the door closed behind us, still giving me that soft, slant-wise glance.
He is so beautiful, my dark Master, his eyes creasing, radiating fine lines from the corners. His hair is
silvering at the sides, platinum threaded here and there. Tall, lean, he shows no trace of the paunch
men often acquire as they grow older. His belt draws around a tight, flat belly, emphasising a straight
spine and long legs. The injury he took protecting me often gives him pain if he walks too much, but his
thighs and calves are well-muscled from the riding we do together.
I’d wondered if he intended to have me kneel for him. I would do so willingly. But no. His mood seems
otherwise today.
“Come here,” he murmurs, drawing me into his arms. Close up he smells of spice and male musk, and
if I’m honest...
Hmmm…
He slips fingers around my head, into my hair, drawing my face close to his, my mouth to his. His lips
touch mine, pressing a little, coaxing the kiss back from me and setting my blood fizzing. His touch is
vibrant and vivid and my body’s response, visceral.
His hold on me tightens, then abruptly, he stands back, his gaze sliding down my body, then up again.
His mouth quirks. “Do we both smell of horse?”