Epilogue #2
Soren couldn’t help throwing back his shoulders when Niall pushed forward to take his hand next.
Although the shortest of the three Brádaigh brothers, he was by far the stockiest, his knight’s physique apparent.
He most resembled Sorcha out of the other siblings, his hair also a dark, rich brown with tight curls, although his were kept shorn.
He did share Maeve’s glittering golden brown eyes, though, and those eyes were sharp as they assessed him.
“Glad to finally meet you,” said Niall, pumping and squeezing Soren’s hand more than necessary.
“Likewise.”
Finally breaking their shared stare, Niall looked down to consider Soren’s arms. He even stepped forward, still keeping Soren’s hand, to poke the muscle of his bicep.
“He’s thicker than you usually prefer,” Niall noted.
Maeve scoffed, hugging Soren’s other arm to her chest, as she glared at her brother, but Niall only nodded.
“I approve. I’d prefer you had a man who didn’t blow over in a stiff wind.”
Maeve rolled her eyes. “As if we don’t share tastes, dearest brother.”
Niall’s face turned positively impish, his lips curling in an arrogant grin he shared with Maeve. “Perhaps you and Sorcha are onto something.”
Said Sorcha coughed delicately. “He’s going to fly away again if you two don’t stop it with the innuendo.”
Soren himself laughed at that. “I’ve promised Maeve, no more flying away.”
“Not unless he takes me with him,” Maeve declared, bouncing on the balls of her feet.
With her hold on his arm, Maeve pulled him along to the third and last brother, Calum.
Barely a man now, he was still lanky in the way of youths, all limbs and knobby joints.
He was already the tallest of his siblings although slim, and a pair of spectacles rested on his nose.
Calum held out his hand to shake, revealing ink stains on his fingers.
Once he’d shaken Soren’s hand and shyly welcomed him, Maeve flounced to her brother’s side and tugged him down by the arm for a kiss on the cheek. “You’ll have to tell me all about the capital. I want to hear all the gossip.”
Calum made a face. “You know I don’t listen for gossip.”
“Then you’d better have brought my soap,” she threatened with a mock glare.
“A whole saddlebag full,” laughed Niall.
Honestly, Soren was happy to hear it. Maeve always smelled divine, a light citrus scent cut with sweet, rich vanilla. With her enjoyment of soaps and lotions, Soren’s fur had never been so glossy and soft.
Next was Blaire, whom Soren had already gotten to know well.
Of a similar age to Kiri, the two had become fast friends and study partners once Maeve introduced them.
Kiri’s optimism and sunny disposition had helped Blaire get through the doldrums of studying for her exam, and having someone a year younger to explain things to seemed an excellent comprehension exercise for Blaire.
Soren was heartened to see Kiri making more friends his own age. He was the oldest by several years at the school, and so having another older youth as a friend was invaluable.
Truly, his mate was ever so clever.
Maeve took Blaire’s hands to hold her arms wide. “Is this the new gown?”
Nodding shyly, Blaire confirmed, “Yes, the one I told you about.”
“I love it,” Maeve effused, “lavender is the perfect color for you.”
Blaire blushed with pleasure at the praise. Last Soren heard, she’d easily passed her exam with high marks, and Maeve insisted on her buying a new gown in celebration.
Last of the siblings was little Keeley—although she seemed less little every time Soren saw her. She was at that tender age between a child and a youth, her cheeks still rounded but her legs growing longer. One day soon, she’d grow like a weed.
Bouncing forward, she grinned cheekily at him. “Hullo, Mister Soren,” she sang, “I’m ready for that flying now.”
“Well, uh…” Soren cleared his throat. “Perhaps after luncheon.”
He’d been putting the eager Keeley off for a while now, her mother disapproving of her being flown anywhere. She was too young, and he suspected her family worried that once she began, she’d never want to stop.
“You keep saying that.” Keeley glared suspiciously. “It’s always after or later.”
“That’s because he’s being polite,” Maeve informed her.
“Well you get to fly.”
“That’s because I’m older and his fated mate.” Leaning down, Maeve adopted an imperious arch to her brows. “Besides, he knows it’d make me very jealous to have him fly around with another woman.”
Keeley rolled her eyes, making a disgusted sound, but seemed to accept the answer.
Finally, it was Maeve’s parents. Soren had spoken with Aoife, the mother, several times before and found her to be an agreeable, if harried woman.
“You’re a brave man, Mister Soren, taking on our Maeve,” she said.
“I’m a lucky man, Mistress Brádaigh,” he corrected. “It will be the honor of my life to support her in everything she does.”
Aoife nodded in approval. “I expect her to do many great things, so I’m glad to hear you’re up for the challenge.”
The father, Sir Ciaran, didn’t look impressed.
The old knight took Soren’s hand in a firm, hard shake. The steely look he leveled Soren with had the turuk standing up to grumble. He couldn’t help how his pupils shrank at the sight of a possible threat.
“You’ve got a home and vocation,” said Sir Ciaran at last. “That’s more than the other boys she’s brought home can say.”
“Papa,” Maeve groaned. “Soren’s not a boy.”
“I can see that.” Sir Ciaran looked Soren up and down. “Thank fates for that. A man is what she needs.”
Soren nodded in agreement. “I aim to be everything she needs.”
“Good. Very good. Then let me tell you what I told Orek and then we can eat.” Stepping in closer, Sir Ciaran dropped his voice to threaten, “I’m personal friends with Lord Darrow. There’s not a judge for two hundred leagues who’d prosecute me. So take care of my girl.”
“I understand.”
“Excellent!” Sir Ciaran stepped back, laughing and jolly, an utter shift from his ominous demeanor a moment ago.
It left all the women in the family rolling their eyes.
“Papa, don’t scare him off.”
“If he’s scared off just by that, he doesn’t deserve you, chickadee.”
Maeve huffed and puffed but gave her father an affectionate kiss on the cheek. “He’s too good for me, papa. I promise.”
“I’ll never believe that,” Sir Ciaran whispered back. Peering at Soren over Maeve’s head, the old knight said, “So long as he’s made of strong stuff, I suppose he’ll do.”
A tightness in Soren’s chest eased at his words.
Aoife clapped and announced, “Time to eat!”
Soren took a long, deep breath, relieved. He’d survived the welcoming, now it was just the meal.
Maeve easily found her way back to his side, sliding her hand into his. Two siblings were talking at her, but she took a moment to smile up at him brightly, offering her reassurance.
Soren squeezed her hand. He could face anything for her.
Hours and hours later, Soren and Maeve retired for the night into her childhood bedroom.
Although she’d spent most of her nights with him, the room was still saturated in her scent. A few places looked bare, as she’d brought items over to the cabin, but he could still see her in every corner and surface.
A peek inside her armoire did make him shudder—she already had so many clothes stuffed into the one at the cabin, and apparently there were more—but he considered another, larger cabinet might be a good next project with Orek and Connor.
Once Maeve had shut them inside, the soft lull from downstairs snuffed out. He followed her further into the room, not quite knowing what to do with his hands or where exactly to stand.
He felt too big for the room, even if it was by no means a small space. His wings stayed tightly folded to his back, and he wrapped his tail around his ankle.
Maeve spun across the rug before falling onto her bed with a big, contented sigh. She sank into the plush pink coverlet, closing her eyes.
“We survived,” she cheered tiredly.
That they had. It was an ordeal, to be sure. While Soren was used to being in a large, loud group, Maeve’s family was even larger than his. Everyone had gathered to wish him and Maeve well, and so someone’s attention was always on him.
Used to fading into the background and preferring the shade, being the bright center of attention for a whole afternoon and evening had been exhausting.
Between that and how bilious he was after so much good food, he and Maeve had agreed they wouldn’t fly home to the cabin tonight but stay in her room.
He was glad for the quiet of her space and the allure of her bed—even if it looked precariously small for the both of them.
Rounding the bed, Soren ducked to pick up one of Maeve’s feet and unlace her shoe. As one hand worked the knot, the other rolled and massaged her ankle.
“Mmm,” she moaned, the noise zipping straight through him to his cock.
Soren swallowed hard, telling himself to remain calm. Although there was a door between them and her family, he wasn’t foolish enough to think it’d mute that much.
When her shoes were off, Soren suggested, “Time for bed, I think.”
Planting a stockinged foot on his chest, she asked, “Haven’t you forgotten something?” Maeve waggled her brows and slid her sleeve off her shoulder, revealing one of the ribbons holding up her stays.
Soren absolutely hadn’t forgotten, no. The promise of unwrapping Maeve like the gift she was had gotten him through luncheon, afternoon tea, supper, and an evening of card games.
“We’re in your family home,” he argued but with little conviction.
“When Sorcha and Orek were still in this house, everyone knew what they got up to.”
Soren’s ears flattened. “That doesn’t make me feel better.”
Maeve buffeted him with a peal of laughter. Rolling around on the bed, she insisted, “But this bed is so big and cold all by myself. Won’t you warm me up?”
“You survived just fine before.”