Away With the Fairies (The Swallow Barn Cottage Series, Book 2)

Blankets and Babies

And 2 out of 2 :)

K. xx 

<3

***

When she opened her eyes, it was already dark. The only source of light in the room was the laptop he had open on his lap. He sat in an armchair, his feet, crossed in his ankles, on the bed. The light of the screen cast odd shadows and reflections on his face, making him look like an El Greco painting. Fiona stirred and rubbed her eyes.

"Is this what a hangover feels like?" she asked.

Her throat was scratchy, and her mouth was unpleasantly dry. His fingers stopped their dancing on the keyboard, and he looked up at her.

"Does your head hurt?"

"Like hell," she muttered.

"Nausea?"

"Uh-huh."

"Then, yeah, that's a hangover." He half rose, pressing his hand into the armrest, slipped the laptop onto the armchair, and sat near her on the bed.

"I don't think I like drinking," she said and cringed. "The first few sips were alright, like some sort of a– " She searched for a word, but the ache in her temples was too distracting. "Anyroad, it was liberating– But then I don't quite remember– And this is– manky." She groaned and pressed her face into the pillow.

She felt his hand gently stroke her hair.

"You definitely behaved more liberally," he said with a chuckle. "You were chatty."

"I'm always chatty," she grumbled.

"You aren't right now. I don't think I've ever seen you so ineloquent," he said. "I have a cure for you." She felt him lean to her, his breath brushed at the back of her neck. "It'll be hard to stomach, but I promise you it'll help."

His warm lips pressed to her skin, and she shivered.

"Um– As much as I enjoy this–" she muttered, and he laughed softly.

"You must be properly sick," he whispered and kissed her ear. "Refusing your most favourite thing in the world. But I meant a brekkie, love. There's a dish that helps."

"As long it's not some tripe or something," she muttered.

He started moving away, and she grabbed his hand that was on the bed near her.

"A bit more, please?"

He chuckled, shifted, and she felt the bed dip under his weight. He pulled off the elastic, loosened her braid, and started gently scratching the back of her head. She closed her eyes in bliss.

"So, you don't remember some of the morning," he said.

"I remember most of it," she said.

Let's face it, we all know what he's asking about. Except, he's not asking, is he? Fiona was feeling so out of sorts that she suddenly felt almost irritated. If he wants to know, or discuss something, he'll have to learn to ask. She's not volunteering any more confessions.

He kept running his fingers through her hair, and she was feeling sleepy again. Before she drifted off, she heard him whisper, "I'll wake you up for that brekkie."

***

It must have been the smell of his mysterious cure that woke her up the second time. Fiona crawled out of the bed, pulled on a pair of drawstring trousers, right under her nightie and jumper - and plodded downstairs, shielding her eyes and squinting.