The Knight of Slaughtaverty

Sweet and Bitter

Slaughtaverty 1750

"Oh, just look at you, Your Grace," Merry Doyle giggles, pulling crushed leaves from Ransford's long, tangled blond hair.

The rainy sun finds its way between the clouds long enough to flow into the bedroom and bathe him in a golden glow where he braces himself on his forearms to not crush her beneath him. As always, Merry's breath catches while she gazes up at his ever-increasing beauty.

"You always look like you were dragged backwards through a bush when you've been out with my brothers," she smiles, removing a spiderweb-encrusted piece of twig from the silky strands.

Ransford is streaked with dirt, and his hair is tangled with all kinds of debris. If he hadn't made it home in time, he would've been wet too, as it started to rain just a few seconds after he entered Merry's bedroom.

"I was dragged backwards through a bush," he chuckles, rolling onto his back and pulling Merry up so that she can lie on his chest. "By your brothers," he adds, arching his brows when she pushes herself up far enough to look down at his face.

He'd been out patrolling the forest with Merry's brothers, Séamus and Conor, and Taillte's husband, Eoghan Sullivan, and since they didn't run into any trouble, it ended in a skirmish with each other... the way it always does. Coming home, Ransford ran upstairs, where he found Merry in her bedroom, brushing her hair, getting ready for dinner, and unceremoniously grabbed her from the stool she was perched on to dump her on her bed.

She giggled when he dove on top of her, and then she started complaining that he was crushing her, suffocating her, making her dress dirty, crumpling her bedding and a whole stream of other, unconvincing protests, so he kissed her until she quieted down and pulled him closer to kiss him back.

"I'm sorry to be the one to inform you, my love, but your brothers are hooligans," Ransford grins, putting one arm under his head and using the fingers of his other hand to caress her cheek.

"Oh, they've always been hooligans, Your Grace, but I'm sorry to inform you that they've become worse since you came into their lives."

"You're welcome," Ransford grins, snaking his fingers into her hair and dragging her head down to his so he can kiss her again, enjoying the supple softness of her lips.

As often happens when he is kissing Merry and becomes too excited, he can feel his fangs making an appearance. He's become a lot better at controlling them, but he still has to pause and catch his breath, or he might end up biting her or himself... which is just embarrassing.

Merry used to laugh and tease him whenever he suddenly spoke in a lisp or nicked his lip. She didn't realise until recently that it was her allure that caused these incidents. She no longer laughs when it happens. She simply tells him to take a cold bath and runs away. If only she knew how often the manor staff finds him sitting drenched, fully clothed, in the small, decorative pond closest to the mansion.

He sees them fighting to keep in their laughter while they pretend not to notice him.

Ransford's only hope is that getting married and being able to express his love for Merry in all the ways he longs to will finally put an end to his humiliation. Even his father looks away, struggling to hide his amusement while Ransford dabs at the beads of blood forming on his bottom lip. He did, however, teach his son some breathing techniques that sometimes help a bit.

Sensing his discomfort, as always, Merry pulls out of the kiss. This time, she doesn't just scoot away from him to give him some breathing space; she scrambles off the bed and crosses the floor to her vanity. Though he knows she's trying to make it easier for him since she doesn't have a cruel bone in her body, he still finds it frustrating whenever she leaves his arms.