Wildest Dreams (Fantasyland, #1)

by Kristen Ashley

guenipe,

Loose woman. "Bar fly" "Two o'clock tart" "Friday night floozy"

It is a measure of a man, my wife, how he cheats in cards. And it is a measure of a man, any man, be he married to a pub wench or a princess, how he cares for his bride. I am a Drakkar. My measure is different than any man’s and there are many facets to that, but one of them explains why I turn away without a thought from those whose lifeblood seeps into the snow. Those who moved with intent to harm my bride. And I won’t think of them, ever.

Wow. Wow. I hated this, like, a lot. So much, it felt like acid at the back of my throat. And I didn’t hate it for me. I hated it for Frey. I hated it so much I couldn’t stop myself from pressing closer, lifting a hand to wrap around the side of his neck and asking softly, “Where on earth did you come from, baby?” Frey’s brows drew together and he asked softly back, “Pardon?” My thumb stroked his jaw before I whispered, “My handsome husband is gentle, thoughtful and kind. He laughs and smiles easily and he makes me feel safe. I was with your folks for about five minutes and they were so far from any of that, it is not funny. So,” I squeezed his neck, “where did you come from?” I belatedly noticed that my gentle, thoughtful, kind husband was staring down at me with that fiery look in his eyes. The same look he had after I gave him his spun glass dragon. And looking at it, his fire melted my heart, a heart that was already far from frozen. Before I could say anything, not that I hadn’t already said too much, his arms about me tightened and his face dipped super close to mine when he said quietly, “I do not know, my wee Finnie, where I came from. But I’m beginning to know why I’m here.” And that was when stupid, stupid, stupidly, I asked, “And why are you here, honey?” “I don’t need to say aloud what I know you also are beginning to understand, wee one,” he answered and I pressed my lips together because he was not wrong and I was still not going there. His eyes held mine as ...

Doxies.

Prostitutes 16th century slang

Then he blurted, “Mama used to try an’ teach me.” I blinked and asked, “What?” He didn’t repeat himself. Instead he said, “She got real mad when I got things wrong.” I felt the backs of my eyes start stinging and I held his gaze as I felt them get wet but didn’t say anything. “Tried real hard,” he whispered, “to make certain sure I got nothin’ wrong.” I bet he did. I didn’t respond. “Always got somethin’ wrong,” he murmured, his voice aching from old wounds that in no way were healed and I felt them score at my own insides. “This is life,” I whispered as I steadily held his gaze. “Skylar, know that. It is life to get things wrong. It happens all the time to everyone. We make mistakes, all of us. There is no shame in that. None at all. The thing that’s important to understand is, if you make a mistake, you try and learn from it. But honey, you will make mistakes and that’s okay. One thing I can promise and you can take your time to trust me, is that if you do make mistakes with me or with Frey, we won’t get mad like your mama. We might get upset or disappointed, but we won’t get mad at you like her. You don’t have to believe me now, Sky, but I hope, someday, you do.”

“I told him you have the spirit of the sea, the spirit of a Raider,” he answered. “I told him you’re a Voyager like him and like me. The Voyager doesn’t settle, his feet itch to move, be it on ship, on land, in stirrups. The Voyager acts fast and thinks faster. He has courage. He doesn’t wait to face the risks that come his way, instead, he rushes to greet them.”

Always look forward. Always look where you’re going. Never waste time on where you’ve been. You’ve been there so you don’t have to take that time and wasting any time, even a breath, is a mistake. Memories can be shared of the good times, but they need to be shared while your eyes are to the horizon, faced forward.

pour votre bébé,”

Creole French for your baby

“A wise woman once told me happiness is a line with contentment at one end and bliss on the other.”