The Real Mother Goose Read online

  King Cole’s lips pressed into a thin line as he surveyed the scene, the two redheaded youths huddled together on the ground, Mother standing defiant, her packed back still slung over her shoulder.

  “Your husband is dead,” the King said low enough just for hear ears, his eyes soft for a moment. .”Accept it.”

  “Never.” Mother’s jaw tightened in defiance.

  “I am making an official decree!” The King’s voice boomed over the field. “Father Goose is dead!”

  Mother’s heart leapt to her throat, but she didn’t move, didn’t speak, refusing to look at George in the eye, although he tried to catch it, his fat, rosy lips stretched into a wide smile.

  “Men, take these slaves back for punishment,” the King ordered, and the knight closest to them lifted Jack under the arm, shoving him toward another. Another threw Jill over his shoulder. She squealed and protested, but there was no resisting all of them. “Mother, you will be punished as well.”

  She had known, of course. She waited.

  “The King’s property is not your own to do with as you wish,” George reminded her, trying to catch her attention again, but she refused to face him.

  “You will be given to George,” the King said with a sharp nod. His face twisted in distaste as he looked between them. “Perhaps he can keep you in line.”

  “I’ll kill myself first,” Mother said through clenched teeth, glancing behind her, wondering if she could make it past the dispersing knights through the portal in time.

  The King sighed. “Men, take her.”

  Three of them descended, and it took all of their strength to subdue her. Mother found herself, hair disheveled, shirt ripped, breeches torn, but arms now tied as they situated her in front of the knight she had run into coming out of the portal, his strong arm keeping her in place. She noted with satisfaction that two of them had cuts on their faces from the heels of her boots.

  “I’m closing the portal!” The King announced. “It’s brought enough mischief.”

  “Nooo!” Mother wailed as the King called his magician forward. The man, hooded in black, dismounted and stood in front of the enormous rock, holding up two very wrinkled, old hands as if in prayer. His words were unintelligible, but Mother knew exactly what he was doing—taking away her hope, her possibility of freedom.

  “It is done, your majesty.” The old man mounted again, with the help of one of the King’s men. Another knight moved forward on the King’s command to test it, and indeed, his chest hit solid rock on his attempt to move through the portal.

  “No,” Mother whispered, choking back tears as the knight, his body pressed tight behind hers, nickered to his horse and pulled on the reins.

  “Take good care not to harm her too much.” George leered at them, looking up in his saddle. “That’s my job.”

  Mother had visions of killing him in his sleep as they began the ride back toward the King’s estate. Her horses were tied and led along behind them, and Mother strained to look past, glimpsing one last view of the portal, where even if Artan wasn’t dead—she couldn’t believe it, wouldn’t—he would never be able to come through again. Her shoulders slumped at the thought and, defeated, she let her tears come silently, her hair falling in her face to hide them.

  She heard George talking to the King, a ways ahead. He spoke loudly, and knew it was for her benefit. “She’s looking more compliant already, your majesty.”

  Mother shuddered, gripping the pommel in front of her until her knuckles turned white, not sure she could endure any more of him. And this ride back to the King’s estate would be nothing compared to what was waiting for her afterward. The thought of George touching her, even looking at her, made her breath catch and her stomach churn. She couldn’t possibly allow it. For Artan’s sake alone, she couldn’t.

  She acted almost without thinking. The knight holding her had sensed her defeat and let go, focusing on easing his horse back down the hill and into the forest. It was here, at the long stretch of woods, that she plunged to what surely could have been her death, flipping herself head first toward the ground. Stunned, breathless, she found herself still alive, neck not broken, looking up at the belly of the horse as it stepped over her, and she struggled to her feet.

  They came after her. Of course they did, on horseback, much faster than she could run, but she did have a slight head start. She zigged and zagged, moving between trees, heading toward denser parts, knowing she could fit through smaller spaces than any horse. She flew like the wind, and when she was finally out of their sight—just for a moment—she hid beneath a hollow log, covering herself with brush and leaves and dirt, willing her breath away, praying they would go.

  She didn’t know how long it took, but finally, they did go, the King vowing to come back with the dogs, and she knew he would. Of course, they wouldn’t just be any dogs, not regular domesticated dogs, but rather the dog-humans, whose sense of smell was ten times greater, who could track a man through water if they had to.

  And where was she going to go? There was no portal left, no escape.

  She unveiled herself carefully, slowly, listening to the sounds of the forest around her to make sure they were gone. When she was positive, she stood, leaning against a tree for a moment to regain her footing, her balance, her composure. Gathering her thoughts, she turned in the direction of the portal and began to walk. It was worth a chance, she thought. Perhaps the magician had left a hole, a gap, somewhere she could slip through.

  She tried to keep herself down low in the tall grass, walking beside the path rather than on it, afraid of being out in the open, knowing the King might have posted a scout to watch for just this possibility. The portal stood, as it always had, looking huge and solid, but it had always been deceiving that way. Mother contemplated it for a moment, reaching a tentative hand out to touch its surface.

  “No,” she whispered when her fingers touched the hard, rough surface, refusing to move through. She pressed harder, but the object was immovable. “No!” Frantic, she searched the edges of the stone for resistance, scraping her fingernails against the rock, front and back, finally resorting to beating it with her fists. “No! No! No!”

  Finally, she collapsed, exhausted, sobbing on the ground. There was nothing left for her, then. Nothing. The world she’d left behind didn’t mean anything without the hope of Artan returning, and the other world she’d hoped to join was now inaccessible to her. Her future was beyond bleak, but she didn’t even care, her grief to raw and open to allow her to think much past her punishment. She didn’t fear it. She didn’t even fear death. What she couldn’t face was living without even a thread of hope that Artan would come for her.

  She pressed her wet cheek to the cool dirt, closing her eyes, her thoughts returning to the last happy moment she’d had here, on a blanket spread wide in the field, feeding Artan fresh picked berries and honey. His bornday, her special surprise their picnic alone and a medallion he’d been searching for, found and brought through the portal by Willie in great secret.

  She remembered the light in his eyes when he opened her gift, his face a mix of pleasure and disbelief. “Maren! Where did you find this?!”

  “The man in the moon,” she teased. “Is it what you’ve been looking for?”

  He nodded, lifting it slowly in the bright sunlight, turning its silver surface over, studying the markings. “This here.” He pointed to the star shape on the back. “It’s authentic. You’ve found the real thing.”

  “Well I should hope so,” she laughed and then mock-pouted, stretching out on the blanket. “You have no idea the hardship I went through to get it. Oh, the trials…!”

  He grinned, leaning over to kiss her deeply, breathing her in, his hand pressing her naked breast, and then sliding down the firm, smooth flat plane of her belly.

  “Now,” she whispered, threading her arms around his neck. “Let’s get busy making that baby we keep talking about.”

  His eyes softened, and he leaned in to kiss her a
gain, this time briefly, a place holder. “I’ll be right back!”

  “Artan!” She called after him, laughing, shading her eyes to see him shimmering through the portal. It was the last time she saw him—his smile roguish, his dark, curly hair too long and in need of a cut, wearing the medallion she’d given him as a gift.

  She waited, all afternoon and toward evening, the setting sun bleeding through the sky like her heart broken open for everyone to see, until Blue had come on horseback, looking for them both. He’d taken her back to the house, insisting she not go through looking for him—there were things at home that needed to be taken care of, and he was right. Willie had gone, Blue, too, after a fashion, but had found no sign of him.

  He had left her alone, waiting for him, her heart holding out hope for the words, “Maren! I’m back!” whispered into her desperate ears.

  But she’d never hear him say her name again. The thought clenched her belly and she sobbed, burying her face in her arms, wishing the pain away, wishing she could hear him, just one last time, whisper her name.

  “Maren, I’m back!”

  She sobbed harder, her body wracked with the months of waiting, of holding space for him to return, the words so real she almost felt them, the heat of his breath, soft and sweet against her ear.

  “Maren! It’s me! It’s Artan—I’m home!”

  Her head came up like a shot, and she thought she’d slipped into insanity, her mind finally letting go, giving her the mirage of her husband in her last, final moments. His hair was long, his face full of beard, but his eyes were his, dark and mischievous, although more tired than she remembered. His clothes were strange, unfamiliar to her, but it was him. Artan was home.

  She threw herself into his arms, and he took her weight easily, laughing as she kicked and screamed and pounded him.

  “Where have you been!” she howled, beating his chest with her flailing fists, alternately kissing him and hitting him. “We thought…we thought…you were d-d…dead!”

  “Far from it,” he assured her, cupping her face in his hands, his eyes searching her face. “Looks like you’ve gotten yourself into a bit of trouble, is that so?” Mother closed her eyes, shook her head, and laughed as she blinked at him, making sure he was still there. “Not anymore. Nothing matters now.”

  “Mar—” She stopped his words with her lips, needing him, an assurance, he was here, he was home, he was hers. Their mouths slanted hungrily, bodies moving in long-remembered motion. The clothes gave them both pause, her unfamiliar breeches, his strange attire, but still, it wasn’t long before he was inside of her, piercing her to the very core of her being.

  “Oh lover,” she sobbed, clutching him, pulling him onto, into her, wanting him deeper. “Husband, oh, Artan, love me, love me.”

  “I do,” he whispered into her hair, their joining the final reality, the only moment that mattered. “Oh Mar, I’ve missed you…”

  “Shhhhh.” She kissed him quiet, wrapping her legs around his waist, grinding her hips into his, giving him as much of herself as she possibly could. His cock was like iron in the wet heated forge of her flesh, and she was determined to soften him. Artan lowered his head to hers with a groan as she began to spasm, shuddering beneath him with a higher pleasure than she could ever remember.

  “Ahhh!” He thrust again, one last glorious trip through her wetness, and emptied himself into her very center. Finally, finally. She held him close, refusing to let him go, keeping him there, kissing his cheeks, his mouth, until he softened inside of her and on top of her, too.

  “I couldn’t get back.” He finally explained. “The King had men guarding the exit to the portal. They were ready to kill me.”

  Mother shivered, pulling her clothes quickly back on, scanning the field, remembering now the danger they were in. “We need to go. Quickly.”

  They both had stories to tell, but it could be done while they were on the move. She explained her predicament as briefly as she could, telling him of the taking of Jack and Jill, how afraid she was for their safety.

  “I wouldn’t have thought him possible of anything truly heinous.” Artan frowned as he dressed quickly himself. “Until now.”

  “Why does he want to kill you?” She stood, reaching for his hand.

  Artan lifted his medallion—the one she’d given him. “This.”

  “What is it?” she whispered, realizing with a shiver that she’d been responsible for giving him the very thing he might have been killed for.

  “My past.” He took her offered hand, standing and pulling her into his arms. “My future.” Puzzled, she shook her head, and he explained further, “It’s a key to the portal. Among other things.”

  “That’s how you came through, even after it was closed?” He nodded, pulling her in to him and kissing her, hard. “Maren, I tried. I even tried to get messages back to you, to tell you I was coming home, as soon as I could.”

  “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

  Artan reached down and picked up a dark bag she hadn’t noticed he’d brought through with him. “Let’s go.”

  “What’s that?” she queried, reaching for the bag, but he held it out of her reach.

  “Later.” He grinned. “First, we have a date with the King.”

  Chapter Nine

  Mother Goose

  Old Mother Goose, When she wanted to wander,

  Would ride through the air On a very fine gander.

  “Keep it safe. And keep it warm.” Father Goose’s last cryptic instructions were tossed over his shoulder to Willie as they left their own estate through one of the small, secret passages throughout the house. Mother had never ventured into them, but Father knew their ways like the back of his hand, and it had afforded them a way in and out, in spite of the guard the King had set at their front gate.

  “What is in that bag?” Mother insisted knowing, but he just shook his head, taking her hand and helping her up onto the horse. They would have to go the long way around so as not to alert the King too soon, but their masks and the leash Mother was being led on would give them some cover, even after they’d entered the hall. There were always costumes and masks worn by some at court, and theirs wouldn’t cause heads to turn.

  “I hate collars,” she complained as he mounted the horse behind her, and she felt him chuckle as he took the reins.

  “I think you’ve gotten too used to getting the upper hand,” he teased, kissing the top of her head as he led the horse around the back, toward the woods that bordered their property. It was dark, but the moon was bright enough to give them light to see by.

  “I’m a very good mistress, I’ll have you know,” she insisted, stiffening against him. “I trained quite a few new charges while you were gone.”

  “So I hear.” He laughed silently, as if she wouldn’t know. “And I also hear I need new drapes, a new bedpost, and of course, lots of new clothes for my wife…”

  She sighed. “Well, maybe the cats were a mistake. But I was lonely…”

  He kissed the top of her head, urging the horse faster. “And of course, now we have to go save two slaves from their fate because you have some notion in your head that they’re in love…”

  She elbowed him in the ribs, making him growl with pain, much to her satisfaction. “They are. And they deserve to be happy.”

  “As happy as we are?” Father rubbed the place she’d poked him. “Damn, woman, you’ve got good aim.”

  “I know,” she said smugly.

  “You’re incorrigible.” He tightened his hold on her, driving the horse forward, and they both caught a sense of urgency. Mother hoped the were in time. She couldn’t imagine the King truly harming his property, but with George whispering in his ear, she wasn’t so sure. And trying to imagine that the King himself had ordered Artan killed! That thought, still, was hard to swallow.

  “How are we going to get past?” Mother whispered as they approached the gates of the King’s estate.

  Father’s arm squeezed her waist. �
�Leave that to me.”

  “Pass?” The knight who stopped them barred the way with a sword rather than a staff—they were clearly on alert.

  Father’s eyes glittered behind his white feathered mask, and he reached into his cloak to pull out the medallion. “I have something the King has been looking for.”

  The man’s eyes widened and he lifted his staff, stepping aside. Artan guided the horse through the gate and dismounted, helping his wife down.

  “What is that thing?” Mother asked again, and Artan shrugged.

  “I told you,” he replied, taking her hand and leading her toward the hall. “A key to the portal.”

  “But—” Mother’s protest stuck in her throat as they entered the room. Jill was chained up, completely nude, in the archway that Hump had occupied the other night. She was alone, suspended forward by her chains, arms behind her, feet manacled close to the brick. It had to hurt and Mother moaned in sympathy.

  Jack, however, had fared worse. He was suspended nude by chains above a chandelier, the candles all lit, glowing brightly. Six men held the ends of the chains, and as the King called out, “Lower!” the crowd cheered, “Lower! Lower!” and they nudged the youth down a notch, closer and closer to the flames. The worst was the cock ring, a thick band of leather wrapped around the base of the boy’s not inconsiderable member, forcing him to maintain his erection. It would reach the fire before any other part of him, she gauged.

  “He doesn’t mean to let him—” Mother whispered, hearing yet another cry, this time from George, who sat at the right of the King, of “Lower!”

  “I believe he does,” Father Goose replied, his mouth drawn into a thin line as he glanced up a their young charge. Jack was close enough that the front of him glowed red from the heat of the flames, and he arched away as far as he could in response, in spite of the strain it must have been on his muscles.

  “Interlopers!” George’s shriek filled the hall, and Mother gasped, taking an instinctive step toward her husband. “He has the Keeper’s Jewel I warned you of! Look, around his neck!”