But this situation was something else.

This was an adventure with a limited time span.

In ten and a half months, I was going home to my friends, my house, my money and new adventures. I wasn’t staying here, no way. They didn’t have planes here or cell phones or sushi.

True, it would have been good after what I read in those books, especially about the Raiders, to discover more than Lunwyn. Hawkvale sounded beautiful, Bellebryn gorgeous and Fleuridia was known to have really good food and it must be said, I liked really good food. To explore it all, I could use two years here, maybe three.

But that would mean leaving behind my friends, my house, my money and sushi for two years, maybe three.

I wasn’t about to do that.

And I was loaded but I couldn’t throw a million dollars at trip after trip.

This was a onetime deal.

So here I was, a princess in a frozen world with a very scary yet very hot husband who could really kiss and liked to cuddle.

And I knew I was going home so there was no risk because I knew those ties would be cut.

Then Sjofn would have to deal as she’d left me to do the same.

And Frey Drakkar…

Well, we’d see how I’d handle that.

First I had to see if he could communicate in the sense that he listened as well as talked and when he talked he didn’t only say scary shit or stuff that pissed me off but other… uh, stuff.

Then I would decide.

I rolled out of bed, banked the fire, shoved back the curtain and climbed down. I found fires burning merrily in both fireplaces as well as the kitchen stove (which, seriously, being iron, conducted a lot of heat, the kitchen was always cozy warm) and there was fresh brewed coffee – strong and good.

He could make good coffee and he could build good fires meaning I didn’t have to do either. This meant his plus column was growing. So far there were only four things on it but yesterday there were none so I had hope.

I heated some water, washed a bit at the basin in the bathroom space and pulled on some undergarments, cashmere stockings attached to garters and a long, dusty pink, soft wool knit dress that clung everywhere, had a scooped neckline, some serious cle**age (by the way, all my dresses had serious cle**age, this was the way they were made, this was what my underwear also made when I strapped it on and, it had to be said, natural cle**age was the way I was made) and long flowing sleeves that belled out at the wrists. I pulled my hair back from my face with a pink satin ribbon, tied the long, matching knit belt so it hung low on my hips, touched some perfume behind my ears and at my wrists and headed to the kitchen to make Penelope a late breakfast and her Momma some brunch.

Penelope was on all fours, belly to the floor and had her face in a bowl of leftover chicken I’d warmed by setting it on the stove when the backdoor opened, Frey Drakkar prowled through and then he stopped dead when he saw me.

I took him in.

A first, no knives or sword. Another first, his hair was partially wet. He’d also shaved. Someone had visited the hot spring.

Hmm.

It must be said, I kind of liked the beard.

As I took him in, I realized I kept forgetting how big he was. By then, I was used to that kitchen. It wasn’t mammoth but it wasn’t small either.

With him in it, it seemed tiny.

His eyes were on me standing at the butcher block whisking pancake batter. I watched them go down the length of me he could see then they went up.

I swallowed.

Then I said, “Hi.”

My word activated him, he moved in, swung his arm around that I hadn’t noticed was carrying a large stick over his shoulder and he plonked the dead carcass of a small (what looked like a baby) deer on the kitchen table.

I blinked.

Then I gagged.

Then I controlled my urge to hurl, pulled in breath and looked from the dead deer to him.

“Uh… I have a rule. No dead game on the kitchen table.”

His green-brown eyes held mine. He didn’t speak. He also didn’t move.

Okay, ignore big dead animal carcass and move on, Finnie, I told myself.

I searched for a good strategy. Then I hoped I found it.

“I… well, um… I just wanted to say, uh… before I forget, thanks for stoking the fire upstairs and keeping me warm while I slept in,” I said, thinking that was nice, noticing and commenting on something he did that was nice.

He crossed his arms on his chest and studied me.

All righty then.

“You, um, came home last night after having a few,” I noted, got no response, I waited just in case his brain didn’t work as fast as mine, still got no response so I continued. “You look okay. I hope you aren’t hungover.”

Nothing.

Okay. Right.

“Would you like pancakes? I’m making a late breakfast of pancakes and bacon.” More nothing. “Uh… if you want to eat, you’ll have to remove the dead animal.”

Finally, a semi-response. He picked up the deer, opened the backdoor and flung it on the back porch where it landed with a sickening thud.

I winced.

Eek!

He closed the door.

“Thanks,” I whispered.

He walked toward me, I braced then he walked by me, grabbed the handle of the kettle then prowled out of the room.

I relaxed.

Then I set about wiping down the table (doing this mostly with my eyes closed then, still with my eyes closed and finding it with arms in front of me walking like a mummy, I threw the cloth out the backdoor) after which I put the slices of bacon I’d already cut into the warming skillet.

He came back while I was fiddling with the pancakes in one skillet and moving the bacon around in another one. He stalked right up to me, slammed the kettle down on the stove, grabbed the percolator, poured himself a hot mug o’ joe and then stalked to the table where he sat down, one knee bent, one leg sprawled, king of his rustic-chic cabin, eyes on me.

Dear Lord.

In silence and with a one man audience, I finished the food, served it up, slapped slabs of butter on the warm pancakes and it started melting. Then I turned toward the table. I put a plate in front of him, one in front of my seat then I went to the cupboards to get honey and silverware. I gave him his, set mine at my place and put the honey on the table. Then I moved across the kitchen to warm up my coffee and I sat down, poured honey all over my pancakes, put it on the table and pushed it in his direction.

Then I tucked in.

I saw him reach for the honey then I heard the jug hit the table then I heard him start to eat.

I looked at him. Then I tried again.

“Frey, I think we need to talk.”