The Lover's Children

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?” Text property © Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org.

“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.”

“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?”