At about the same time, my cup and saucer were swept away by Frey. I watched vaguely as he set it on the table and then I saw nothing but his face for he had bent close to me and lifted his hand to my jaw.
“I will be with you,” he whispered and I nodded, knowing he meant at the executions and his eyes moved over my face before he noted, “They do not do this in your world.”
I shook my head and said softly, “They do, it’s just not public and criminals aren’t hanged. They’re injected with poison and, well… whatever, but it’s private and it happening at all is controversial. Many of my world do not believe in the death penalty and some are vehemently opposed to it.”
“And your opinion on that?” he prompted and I bit my lip.
Then I replied, “I’m not a big fan.”
Frey’s eyes softened before he assured me, “It is rare here, my love, and the only times this sentence is carried out is for traitors, rapists and murderers. And your attendance would only be expected at the executions of traitors.”
Well, this was good news except for the fact that there just happened to be three traitors who needed hanging.
“Fabulous,” I muttered.
“That is rarer still, my Finnie,” Frey whispered, his fingers tensing at my jaw briefly. “I only remember one other in my lifetime and that was decades ago.”
I nodded and that made me feel better, just not much.
Frey leaned in, touched his mouth to mine and that made me feel better too, this time a lot more.
“It will be swift and we will be away,” he said gently.
I nodded again and he again tensed his fingers on my jaw.
Then he said, “I must make haste to talk to the conspirator.”
I nodded yet again.
Frey went on, “I will return as soon as I can.”
That was when I realized that he was keen to get away but he was worried about me and staying to make sure I was okay before he went.
So that was when I lifted my hand, curled my fingers around his wrist, squeezed and gave him a small smile.
“I’ll be all right,” I assured him.
He still didn’t move as he replied, “I do not like the light I see in your eyes.”
“Well, honey, you probably won’t for awhile because this is an adventure, if given the choice, I would say a big, fat no to but I’ll get through it then I’ll get over it.” I gave his wrist another squeeze and finished, “Promise.”
His thumb stroked my cheekbone then he leaned in and slid his nose along mine as I pulled in a fortifying breath.
Then he must have been assured I wasn’t going to fall apart for he straightened, nodded at Mother, jerked his chin at Father, Father smiled his approval at me briefly (and that made me feel better too) and they moved out of the room.
Mother regarded me over the rim of her coffee cup through another sip before we heard the doors close behind Father and Frey.
Then she dropped the cup again and drily observed, “It upsets me to note that it appears your husband doesn’t like you much at all, my daughter.”
I blinked at her then saw her mouth twitch as I watched her eyes light.
Then I leaned forward, nabbed my own cup, sat back and remarked, “It’s terrible. We simply do not get along,” then I took a sip.
“I see this,” Aurora murmured.
“He’s insufferable,” I added.
“Mm.” This she murmured into her cup while her eyes danced.
“And he thinks I’m a shrew,” I informed her.
“He made that quite clear,” she replied.
“The last few months have been a nightmare,” I shared.
She lifted her chin slightly. “My profound sympathy, my dear, that you are suffering so greatly,” she returned and I couldn’t help it, I grinned, that grin grew to a smile then I burst out laughing.
Aurora of the House of Wilde did not laugh with me but she did smile.
And when I stopped laughing, she leaned forward, picked up the delicate, china plate of petite fours and extended it to me while inviting, “Tell me all about your adventures with your Raider, my Finnie.”
And therefore Mother deftly took my mind off the coming events and to better places, something I not only let her do but was extremely grateful for and we sat, drank coffee, ate cakes and had a long, fabulous mother daughter chat in a beautiful room next to a roaring fire.
I would have preferred our welcome home not to include news of my required presence at a triple execution.
But it ended up great.
And, by the way, the petite fours tasted even better than they looked.
* * * * *
“Don’t be cross, Penelope,” I whispered as I cuddled my cat who I’d been reunited with a few hours earlier and who, I had found, was holding a pretty mean grudge for being left behind.