Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 107209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
At least Maeve seemed safe—for now. Lyrica wasn’t entirely sure about Ralstad. His other ear might be a good target.
“Well,” Ralstad said, his tone softening despite the exasperation in his eyes, “listen, Maeve. We’ve been trying to have a baby for a century. You’re finally pregnant, and you’re going to be careful. I can’t have you slipping out there.”
Maeve set the cast-iron pan down gently on the counter and crossed her arms. “Whether I wear those absurd tights or not, this babe will be just fine. You can’t go frettin’ over every little thing, Ralstad.”
“Of course I worry,” he said, letting go of his ear, now swollen and bright red. “You’re every breath I take.”
Maeve’s expression softened, her fiery demeanor shifting to tenderness. “You’ve been awfully cranky of late,” she said, a teasing smile curling her lips. “You’re lucky that’s the first time I’ve taken the pan to you, so you are.”
His lips quirked upward despite himself. “This month,” he muttered, rubbing his ear.
Maeve laughed, the sound soft and warm, as she stepped closer and reached for his hand. “It’s been some time, hasn’t it?”
Ralstad grumbled but allowed her to take his hand. “It doesn’t feel like a while,” he muttered, leaning down so she could kiss his cheek.
Maeve kissed his injured ear instead.
“You’re an evil one,” he said, a smile softening his gruff tone. “I knew it the moment I laid eyes on you in that field all those years ago.”
“You knew exactly what you were gettin’ yourself into,” Maeve replied, a mischievous gleam in her eyes as she kissed him again. “Now stop yer fussin’. I love you, and I’ll be just fine.”
Ralstad puffed out his chest, trying to look stern but failing under her warmth. “I know you’ll be safe. I’ll make sure of it.” He leaned in, pressing a kiss to her nose before stepping back, his cheeks tinged red when he glanced at Lyrica. The big, grumpy soldier looked almost sheepish. Lyrica bit back a grin. The male was a giant teddy bear wrapped in a storm cloud.
Maeve noticed her expression and laughed, the sound soft and warm. “Lyrica, why don’t we sit and have a bit of tea while Ralstad goes to clear the walkway again?”
Ralstad snapped to attention, clearly relieved by the excuse to leave. “That’s a good idea,” he said, kissing Maeve one last time before walking to the door. He opened it, paused, and scanned the area outside. “There’s no guard on duty out here.”
Then he turned back, his gaze locking on Lyrica. His nostrils flared slightly as he sniffed the air. “You drove here without guards? The prince let you?”
Lyrica wavered, crossing her arms. “That’s none of Vero’s business.”
One of Ralstad’s eyebrows shot up. “Huh. That’s not true.” He shrugged and stepped out into the cold, shutting the door behind him.
Maeve walked to the stove, placing a pretty pink kettle on the burner. “Can’t believe ya nearly shot me mate,” she said over her shoulder.
Lyrica shook her head and moved to take the same chair she’d sat in during her last visit. The warm and comfy kitchen provided a welcome peace. “I thought he was abusing you, not the other way around.”
Maeve waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, please. Every one of ’em needs a smack to the head now and then. You should know that by now.”
Lyrica stared at her, trying to process everything. “I had this all wrong.”
“Why? Because I like to wear dresses and braid my hair?” Maeve arched a brow.
“Well…yeah. Plus, you don’t want to go anywhere.”
Maeve shrugged, pulling two mugs from the cupboard and dropping tea bags into them. “We might’ve kept under the radar thanks to the old leadership, but that’s why we’ve come back now. I like it here. I love me mate. We’ve been tryin’ for a baby for ages, and now we finally are.” She glanced back, her smile softening. “I’m right where I want to be.”
“But Ralstad seems so…cranky. Kind of mean and bossy.”
“Oh, he is,” Maeve said with a laugh. “Cranky, mean, bossy. That’s just Ralstad. And that’s why I love him.”
Lyrica blinked, unable to wrap her mind around Maeve’s perspective. “What about the boot warmer? He said no.”
Maeve rolled her eyes. “I want the boot warmer for him. The poor lad gets fierce cold feet, but he reckons it’s a weakness to slip into warm boots each day. Daft eejit.”
Boy, had Lyrica read this situation wrong. “I don’t think I belong here. Not in this nation.”
Maeve placed the mugs on the table and sat down, her green eyes warm and wise. “Ah, sure you do. You belong wherever you choose to belong. And you can be whoever you’ve a mind to be.”
The kettle began to whistle, and Maeve rose to pour the hot water into their mugs. She returned to the table, handing Lyrica a steaming cup. “If you’ve a mind to be like me—a bit of an old-fashioned Irish witch who loves her dresses and keeps a traditional home—then go ahead and do that. But if it’s a modern life you’re after, wanderin’ the world and such, then follow that path instead. Whatever sits right with your soul is what you should chase.”