7.19 The Pooka’s Wife
The Queen glanced at her guard and laughed. “He’s too pretty to be mad at, Penelope.” So the woman knew my name. Of course, she knew my name. Duh. She wouldn’t have kidnapped me if she didn’t know who I was. At least, I supposed that was so. “Why have you brought me here? What have I done to you?” I asked. Again, she laughed, obviously enjoying my confusion and the anger my face probably showed as I glared at the man who was apparently her favorite guard . . . or lover? “Penelope, Penelope. What a gracious name. It sings, doesn’t it? I have a tuner who could fetch a song from it. Although, it sadly doesn’t rhyme with anything. Still, it has such a charming beat. I must see what he can do with it.” I waited, sighing. I wanted to tap my toe on the floor, demonstrating my impatience, but I’d learned enough to know from my wedding and from what happened on the plane that Fae Queens were volatile. Whatever I said or did, it must be done gently and with great humility. “Yes, I understand why the Pooka loves you so. You are enchanting. And I see why Moragana has claimed you as hers. It is not just because her Pooka has chosen you.” All three of the golden haired Viking warriors who seized me from our friendly card game had now showed up in the large room. Steffen, the one she said was pretty, had been joined by his fellow brigands. One of the men walked over to the long wooden table and picked up a pink and purple carrot. His teeth flashed as he bit down. “Yes, enticing, aren’t they? You may choose one of them to entertain you while you are here.” I gasped. “I’m married! I love my husband. I would never . . .” The queen collapsed into the largest of the red velvet chairs. She was laughing with full gusto. What should have turned her ugly, only brought out the twinkle in her eyes and gave her pale face a bloom of color. A moment later the queen motioned for me to sit down. I didn’t want to. I wanted to run, but where would I flee in a land so far from where I wanted to be? For some reason, that brought on the worries. What had happened to Timothy and the guys? Were they okay? The Viking lookalikes hadn’t hurt them, had they? I slipped into the nearest chair, not because I wanted to, but because I deemed it wise to obey the queen, and then I opened my mouth to shoot out my questions. What do they say in the movies when talking with a member of the mafia? Oh, yes. I will bombard the queen with questions . . . RESPECTFULLY
7.18 The Pooka’s Wife
She introduced herself as Queen Briana. I didn’t ask which court she belonged to. Timothy and Ben probably would have known, but I really knew nothing about the Fae, except that Timothy didn’t want me to visit here. But Queen Briana had made that a done deal for some reason. I was itching to ask her why, but, despite the long gown she was wearing with sleeves so long they touched the ground and the drape of her dress, as far as I could tell, the perfect broom for dusting as she swept along. She asked me nothing as we sped along into the castle/palace, which was a good thing, since I was out of breath and panting slightly. Part of that was because I’d been captured by her guards and hustled through space and also because the queen walked faster than I normally did. It took us a good twenty minutes to arrive at the place she wanted us to end up at. Surprisingly it wasn’t the throne room, either, but instead, the banquet room with a long wooden table set with metal plates and platters. The latter were piled high with fruits, nuts, and strange-looking flowers, that were either for decoration or part of the dinner. “Help yourself,” the queen instructed, but I’d just filled up on a lovely meal of pasta with mushrooms, sour cream, pieces of carrots and peas. My tummy was so full I couldn’t even have been persuaded to nibble on cookies if I’d seen any being offered. I explained that I was stuffed at the moment, thank you, and the queen shrugged, picked up what I think was a carrot, although its peel wore a mottled purple and pink outer skin. Queen Briana then ordered one of the guards, the one who had clamped on my wrist as if his hand were a police cuff, to pour us a couple of drinks. I shook my head, fearing that the beverage would be something alcoholic, which was the last thing I needed, having just been kidnapped by Viking-looking, Vulcan-eared he-men. Did I mention their ears? Spock would be jealous. (Yes, I’m a Star Trek fan. Isn’t everyone?) Anyway, that’s the reason when the heavy handed, vise-like jerk tried to hand me a metal goblet, I declined with a shake of my head. Then, feeling rude, I added, “No, thank you.” (Isn’t there a requirement that one must be polite to kidnappers?)
7.17 The Pooka’s Wife
Three of them flashed out of nothingness, right into the salon where we were playing cards. All four guys had their hands full of cards. Timothy, sitting beside me, had lain his cards down to help me with my hand. He wasn’t paying attention to the slight sparkle in the air that occurred right before the moment they came. Long blonde hair, tied back with a dark ribbon. Blue eyes that seemed lake water deep, and bodies that looked carved from stone. That’s all I saw before I was gone, leaving the men gasping, at least, I think that described the sound they made. Perhaps they were huffing for breath. I know I felt the atmosphere change, and where there was formerly lots of delicious air flowing in and out of my lungs, that was suddenly gone. Two of the three had grabbed my hand and were holding it. I could feel their touch. I wanted to push them away, to fight the grip on me, but I was too scared. I clung. Perhaps it took no longer than a brief moment. There is no measure on time when the coldness of despair, panic, and lack of breath are stealing away your life. Touchdown was sudden, feet on the ground, a heaviness to my feet, as if gravity was pressing down on them. I think I cried out, but it was probably only inhaling the air, the sweet smelling air. Have you ever breathed deeply of a honeysuckle bush? The fragrance, the smile of pleasure, and the headiness of its perfume traps you into fairyland, at least for a moment. Unfortunately, I was pretty sure that’s exactly where I was, for real. I would have asked one of the blonde hunks, but a woman butted into my musings over fragrances and memories of an earlier time in my life, the good times, not the day, the bee stung me for touching one of the honeysuckle blooms when I didn’t see it sitting there. “Welcome to my Court,” the woman said. “I hope my boys didn’t hurt you. You are far too pretty to be harmed.” Although that was nice to hear, my mouth, ajar like an open door, didn’t do more than sputter. Or was it my tongue that was supposed to do the talking? Neither seemed to rush forward to discuss the situation with this queenly robed woman. (I say that because not only was the satin of her dress of that realm of elegance, but because she had a crown sitting on her head that was beaming light rays from its many jewels.)
7.16 The Pooka’s Wife
Meanwhile, I’ve got to add that Phelon pampered us daily. He brought us treats, like chocolate cookies and chocolate dipped strawberries, and he made sure that we had all the sparkling water we wanted. The last item was such a simple thing, but nothing tasted better after time in the sun and having warn out muscles from the gym or the pool than an icy sparkling water. Phelon also brought us fresh towels and changed our sheets every day. And he took away our dirty laundry and brought us clean robes, jeans, and etc. If we weren’t in the suite, he even hung the things up or put them in our drawers. I wanted to know more about such a kind and hard-working guy, but Phelon said that he wasn’t allowed to talk to us about his life, not even where he was from. He wouldn’t tell us if he had a wife or children, or even about his brothers and sisters, if he had any. I thought it was a strange rule that would force someone to remain silent about their personal life, but I guess the ship had its reasons. *** French lessons, swimming, playing shuffleboard, which isn’t only for old people as Bob had told us, dancing lessons, big shows in the auditorium . . . A week quickly passed. We were by that time somewhere in the middle of the ocean, no land on the horizon in any direction. Kind of scary if you think about the Titanic, however, there were definitely no icebergs around, so I figured we were probably safe from collisions like that one. Sometimes, Daniel and Ben spent time with us in our suite. We played a couple of board games and some activities with cards. Other times, it was only the werewolves. There was some kind of rotation going on. I never understood the pattern. Maybe there wasn’t one, and they just scheduled guard duty among the four of them. One time we all got together in the suite and watched a movie. It was a comedy, so the fun part was everyone laughing at different things. The delay in getting the joke would start us all cracking up again. Especially Bob. He was always great fun, although I sometimes thought that Timothy didn’t appreciate him. But, in spite of the spat Timothy and I had engaged in over my desire for freedom, I was always guarded. Overly guarded, if you asked me. Until, the day when it wasn’t enough.
7.15 The Pooka’s Wife
Timothy smiled, but it was a thin and rather brief reaction as he recalled those monkeys. “At least take one of the guards with you, even on the ship. Please.” Bob was standing overly close. It was obvious that he was listening. His eyes were round and staring. Not upset about the spat Timothy and I were having, but worried, I guess, about the outcome. Terry, always the calmer of the two, was sitting down on one of the lounge chairs on the open patio. He was watching us, like Bob, but he was the more patient and calm of the two. He would wait to see what Timothy wanted him to do. But, from the look on his face, I think, Terry was probably wondering how to intercede, or if he should. “We’re not arguing, I told the two of them. Not exactly. Timothy was just explaining how I’m a four year old child who needs constant supervision.” Okay, so that wasn’t really fair, but . . . Bob gasped. Terry nodded and said. “Fine, then Bob and I will return to our room while you two finish your discussion. We will hope you solve this problem. Boss, Penelope,” Terry said, giving each of us a formal nod as he stood up and headed for the door. Bob’s eyes flitted back and forth between Terry’s exit and our agitation, but then he shrugged and followed after his buddy. “My bride bites,” Timothy said, then swooped me up in his arms and began carrying me up the stairs. That was not the way to settle this argument, and I should have demanded that Timothy put me down, except it reminded me of Rhett Butler in Gone With the Wind. Rhett had carried Scarlet up the staircase and romanced her so well that the next morning she was smiling. The three of us girls had gone to see the movie, just before Sammy had to depart for Bakersfield, and Cara took off to live in an artist’s commune. But in that final celebratory send off, we had all agreed that Rhett carrying Scarlet up those stairs was the most romantic scene of any movie ever. Because of that, what could I say? My Timothy was every bit as sexy as Rhett Butler. So instead of fighting him, I wrapped my hands around his neck (No, not to choke him, but to hold on.) And when Timothy reached the top of the staircase and was still not the least bit out of breath, I half-way swooned like Scarlet might have if we’d seen that part. Timothy had done all the work, but my heart was the one pumping double time, and I was ready to hop back into bed — only not to sleep. Timothy continued on, carrying me into our fancy room, then set me down on the bed. I hoped Timothy hadn’t caught the Rhett Butler image I was thinking about, but it was too late to worry about that. My clothes were soon tossed on a chair, his followed, and then we used up a big chunk of time practicing how to be newlyweds. My desire to be let off the leash, kind of fizzled out. In fact, in the middle of love-making, one has a tendency to forget absolutely anything else. It’s rather marvelous.
7.14 The Pooka’s Wife
Days passed, having fun, eating too much, and doing things that married couples, especially just married couples, did during the night. We swam lots, almost every day, in fact. I actually made it up to ten laps without stopping. I was so proud of myself. Timothy kept cramming cautions down my throat until I was about to scream. I hadn’t been watched so avidly since I was a toddler. About a week in, I’d had it. I declared that I wanted the freedom to do things on my own: to shop in the little boutiques, to go to a beauty parlor, to . . . just drift. Timothy shook his head and frowned. “The Fae are aware of you now. The various factions get up to great mischief. Just because you are more or less under the protection of the Queen of the Unseelie, doesn’t mean that others would honor that. They squabble like children.” “There are no Fae here on board this ship. Well, except Ben, and he’s on our side, isn’t he?” For a moment, I saw a shadow of doubt cross over my husband’s face. “I think so,” Timothy said after a moment, “but you are not to be with him alone. His allegiance must always be to the Queen and to the Fae.” I sighed and looked down. Why were there always such complications? Timothy was a Pooka, and, two werewolves guarded us, plus a Fae and a Thunderbird god. So, why should I expect anything else? Yet, for all I knew, I was still just a human, despite Timothy’s biting me. He said my body was still adapting. . . But being human should mean that I was free of these obstacles. Right? “Please, take pity on my suffering, Penelope. If something were to happen to you, I’d break down into a . . .” Since he’d stopped and seemed at a loss for a descriptive phrase, I jumped in. “A screaming monkey?” I suggested. It was one of our jokes, having seen the tantrums of the zoo monkeys when they decided to wreak havoc with the group. (And screaming was definitely not the worst thing they did.)
7.13 The Pooka’s Wife
We explored the ship for the rest of the day, visiting the gym, where I worked out for a while, then we discovered what they called an art gallery. Later, we checked in with the language professor for some French lessons, which Timothy scheduled me for every day from then on (10:00 – noon.) After lunch, where we dined on tacos, frijoles, and chips, we swam in the ship’s Olympic-sized pool. No kids were allowed, so we really did get to swim some laps. I was completely out of shape and only did five, but Timothy kept going for a half-hour. Watched over by Ben and Daniel, who’d finally come out of hiding, I was quite content to dry out in the sun. Nothing is more relaxing. Oh, and that evening, we did go to the musical show. All four guys, which Timothy deemed to be necessary. There was absolutely no reason for heavy guard duty. No one paid us any attention. Everyone was watching the show. But all in all it was a great first day. I was completely bowled over by how wonderful life on a cruise ship was. And the food, oh, my stars and stripes! Good thing the ship had all those pools, gyms, and the jogging path. At dinner, I splurged on a piece of German chocolate cake. Yum. The next morning was similar. We swam, jogged, and I used the weights at the gym. Bob teased me a bit for using wimpy ones. He took the heaviest dumbbells and with a couple of grunts, lifted them more times than I cared to count. Show off. Terry hovered over me, working out on a stairstep. He was a showoff, too. That was one piece of equipment that always seemed like torture to me. My legs always complained after a five minute workout. The most interesting part of the day was the French lesson. Timothy already spoke French, as did Daniel, so they sat outside the room where my lesson took place. Terry and Bob actually came inside with me. They weren’t really supposed to take part in the lesson, but as they waited in two chairs over in the corner, they seemed equally intrigued in learning the language. The instructor, Monsieur Betron, was a petite man with overly black hair which he kept tied in a ponytail at the back of his neck. He wore a moustache just like the villain I’d seen in an old time melodrama where the man insisted the beautiful young woman must marry him or else. My favorite part of that play had been the people all around us booing and hissing whenever Mr. Dowrong came on stage. It had been great fun to attend. It had been Cara’s treat to us to celebrate Sammy’s birthday one year. But Monsieur Betron, even though he looked like that quarrelsome, evil villain, was actually a big softie. He introduced me to the verb avoir and had me speaking in simple sentences that would be perfectly acceptable for a four-year-old. J’ai un chat. (I have a cat. I wish.) J’ai un chien. (I have a dog.) and a bunch of other variations. I even learned how to ask someone if they had a dog or a cat: Avez-vous un chien? Avez-vous un chat? I hoped that future lessons would lead me into more useful dialogue unless France was big on conversations concerning cats and dogs.
7.12 The Pooka’s Wife
When I came downstairs in my comfortable, but new jeans and tee, I saw that, apparently while I’d been in the shower, Timothy had gotten dressed. He looked good in his stream-lined jeans which deliciously hugged his taut, muscular rear, a polo shirt that was not too tight, but seemed to meld itself very nicely to his chest, and that grin of his. Wow. What a combination. I wished he’d joined me in the shower. That would have been super romantic, but I also knew it would have delayed us from our explorations of the ship. There would be time for bedroom play later. I’d make sure of it, I said, giggling to myself. Timothy’s smile widened as he caught my thoughts. He flashed his straight white teeth at me and sent my lower limbs trembling with want. Oh, my. For a nickel, I’d grab his . . . arm and drag him back upstairs. I’m willing he mind sent. But I think you’re counting on doing some cruise ship discovery. The reminder jolted me from my licentious thoughts. Except that adjective probably didn’t apply since the two of us were now legally married and on our honeymoon where all such passions were expected, right? Phelon had left the suite. Bob was sitting at the table. The cookies and strawberries had all disappeared. At one time that would have angered me, but I figured it was better that they were gone. I had a bikini in my suitcase that I wanted to fit into. And a couple of elegant but tight dresses. Yes, be gone all cookies and chocolate dipped strawberries. I needed to find a gym and do some jogging on the ship’s advertised running track. The brochure promises that it completely circled the outer rim of the ship. **** I was completely lost the moment we stepped out of our quarters. I was well content to have Timothy guiding us forward. He seemed to know exactly where the elevators were. We got off on one of the floors and headed to a couple of restaurants, peered into the windows, then passed on, heading for another area. That meant another elevator ride, and I saw that we were up on the top deck. It was incredible. Water surrounding us, joggers running over to the side, lounge chairs, bars serving drinks, and sunshine streaming down on us, it was a circus of pleasurable sights. The air smelled . . . well, clean, like I’d never inhaled fully before. I breathed it in deeply, just enjoying the taste of it, the freedom of taking in non-polluted air. The ocean breeze was actually a bit chilly. I should have thought of that and grabbed up a sweater, but Timothy’s arm around me kept me from feeling the cold. Crowds were everywhere, but no one seemed to take notice of us, even with the three good-looking guys escorting me. In fact, most people were too busy scanning their cell phones, reading books while sunbathing on the lounge chairs, or sipping their drinks while chatting and laughing with friends. We passed a small cafe where there were only fast food items: Hot dogs, hamburgers, pizza, ice cream, chips . . . Both Bob and Terry picked up some nibblies. No money exchanged hands. The crewman just touched the men’s medallion necklaces. I knew our meals were free, part of our package. We could eat a smorgasbord of items, and the crew wouldn’t complain. But that bathing suit would show new bulges. I shrugged and kept walking. Not long after, we arrived at the All Day Breakfast Resto. I ordered scrambled eggs and an English muffin, then dived into the fruit bar at the center. Imagine unlimited fresh blueberries, raspberries, and green and purple grapes. I was ready to move onto the ship permanently.
7.11 The Pooka’s Wife
That announcement shot us up. We ran to the glass door, shoved it open, and sped to the side of the ship’s balcony. A plastic shield kept us from hanging over, but it was clear for good viewing and so clean it actually sparkled. Terry was absolutely right. We could see a whole school of dolphins riding the ship’s wake. “It’s just like in San Diego,” Bob said. “They’re very pretty.” I nodded, joined hands with Timothy and just took it in, oohing and aahing a bit, because the sight of dolphins cavorting about in water never gets old. We watched until the animals took off, perhaps heading off in search of a meal. “Shall we go explore the ship now?” Timothy asked, grinning most handsomely. I did a double take. Had he forgotten our earlier row? I whispered into his ear about how much I loved his smile, even though I knew I didn’t need to whisper. because he could hear my thoughts. And speaking something out loud meant that the two werewolves could always hear whatever I said, even at a whisper. But I found the mind reading thing very confusing. What if I was thinking something bad about Timothy? What if he’d irritated me beyond measure, and I just wanted to go off on my own? And if my thoughts got out when I didn’t want them to, how could I stop him from hearing them? If I irritated you, I’d want to know, Timothy mind sent. If you need alone time, that would be fine. I’d stay in my room until you were ready for me to join you — but to go off on your own? That . . . But saying anything more would spur you on to run off without me, right? I nodded. Timothy needed to know that I absolutely would not be bossed around. I’d worked too hard to earn my independence and having a husband wasn’t going to disrupt that. I wanted to see that musical, and I intended to go, no matter what. “Okay,” Timothy said. “All four of the men will accompany us to the musical. I’d rather give in than to have you endanger yourself by going off on your own, but . . .” Whatever he had planned to say, he didn’t get a chance to complete it because I threw myself into his arms and kissed him over and over. Perhaps, he and I might have journeyed back upstairs, sending the two werewolves back to their room next door, but Phelon at that moment, knocked, and Terry, glancing over at Timothy to get an okay, headed to the door to invite the butler inside. It was at that point, with Phelon’s eyes curiously eyeing me as I stood there with nothing on except my robe, standing with Timothy and the two other guys, that I realized I’d never taken the time to get dressed. “Morning, Phelon,” I called out, grabbing the coffee he’d brought me. Thanking him for the drink, I propelled myself up the stairs, determined to get ready so we could at last start our tour of the ship. I figured that jeans and a tee would be a lot more appropriate than being naked underneath a white, fluffy robe.
7.10 The Pooka’s Wife
I inhaled sharply. I suddenly remembered that we were sitting at a table munching away calmly while a whole world of adventure was passing by without us. Well, Bob and I were. Terry had left. He was probably checking in with the other two guys. But we were sitting on a cruise ship just wasting our time eating cookies and strawberries, and we hadn’t even explored this monstrous whale of a ship? Wow, time to go do something! “We got a print out,” Bob said as if reading my mind, which Timothy had told me werewolves couldn’t do, except perhaps with their own mate. Timothy had developed a funny expression with those words and added, “Which is definitely not you.” Unaware of my memories at that moment — hopefully — Bob handed me a colorfully printed paper. There was a picture of a calendar on it with today’s date circled. It said: embarkation from Fort Lauderdale, Florida, USA. I set the paper down between my husband and myself, and leaning against each other, because we wanted to, not because the paper was difficult to read, we studied it. “There’s a show tonight. Do you want to see that?” I asked Timothy. “That would be fun.” The paper said this show was a musical, one I’d never heard of, but I’d never had money to buy tickets for such things, so I really hadn’t kept up with what was “hot.” Bob crammed in the latest cookie, and speaking with a mouthful of both cookies and strawberries said, “That sounds like great fun. Let’s do that!” Timothy gave Bob a look, then shook his head. “Too many people all crowded together. I don’t want to risk it.” “Is that what you’re going to say about everything?” I spouted, getting riled up by Timothy’s response. “There are thousands of people onboard, and they are always going to be around us: in the pool, at the theatre, in the restaurants . . .So you want us to be stuck inside this suite the whole time? It’s a very nice suite, but . . .No. Just no. I want to see everything, to live a little, so I’m going with you or without you, but I’m going to see this musical, husband of mine.” “I’ll go with her,” Bob spurted out. Not a good moment for that. The look Timothy gave him was full of princely fury. I set my hand on Timothy’s shoulder and said, “Please?” Terry had returned to our quarters. He wasn’t part of this conversation, probably purposefully. He’d gone directly over to the big picture window where he was staring out to sea. “Hey,” Terry said at that moment. “There are dolphins out there.”