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.

"Come back, love; I promise to behave," Ransford complains, sitting up, and when Merry turns to look at him, he gives her a decidedly wolfish grin, causing her to giggle nervously.

In two weeks, they will be married!

Enough time has passed for the island to mourn the loss of their loved ones and for Merry and Uilliam to look too different to be recognised. The entire island population looks forward to the heir's upcoming nuptials with his father's ward from the mainland. They know her as Merrin O'Neill. O'Neill is Merry's mother's maiden name.

The island needs some joy to heal.

"I made you something," Merry says, smiling shyly, and Ransford sits up, giving her a questioning look, wondering if it is another shirt she'd turned into a canvas, covering it in bizarre, colourful patterns. She has some rather strange ideas, and he loves every one of them.

"Let me see," he grins, watching her take something from one of the small jewellery cases on her vanity.

"It's just... I want a part of us to be with each other whenever you go out on patrols," she says, blushing shyly. "I hate being away from you so much."

"I hate it too, Merr, but please tell me you didn't cut off one of your fingers or something." He can see that she still has all her fingers, but since she's wearing house shoes, he is not quite certain about her toes.

"No," she laughs, sitting beside him on the bed. She opens her hand, showing him a heart-shaped pendant on a braided leather cord lying on her palm. "It opens, and there's a lock of my hair in it," she says, pulling a face, suddenly uncertain about the gift. "I have one too," she mutters, pulling a similar cord around her neck to lift an identical heart that has slipped inside the bodice of her brocaded silk gown. "It has a lock of your hair inside."

"You stole my hair?" Ransford exclaims, pretending to be horrified, while he watches with fascination as the heart slips from sight again when she releases the cord. He swallows convulsively, trying not to imagine where it came to rest.

Her sentimentality really touches him. Mrs. McKenna and Aridan's love is the only female love he knows. Since his mother died only a couple of weeks after his birth and his grandmother is more ambitious for him than loving towards him, he is still astounded by the amount of pure love Merry unreservedly lavishes on him.

He thrives on it.

"Yes, I did," she says, quirking an eyebrow cheekily. "While you were sleeping."

Merry is the most gentle person Ransford has ever met, but she has a feisty streak that ignites his heart and makes his blood roar in his veins. He is constantly torn between protecting her and devouring her. He longs to hide her from every possible danger, including himself... especially himself.

"Merr, if you're going to sneak into my room while I sleep, I honestly want you to steal something a bit more exciting than a lock of my hair," he laughs, giving her a saucy look, enjoying the blush painting her face as red as her hair.

"I didn't sneak into your room," she scoffs, rolling her eyes. "You fell asleep while you were posing on that bench in the garden so I could paint you."

"It's called a nap, Merr," he grunts. "I wasn't posing for you."

He takes the necklace from her hand and smiles, opening the pewter heart to see a short, thin, flame-red braid ending in a natural curl coiled inside it.

"It's pathetic, I know," Merry says, trying to take it from him, but he shuts the pendant and closes his hand over it, holding it out of her reach.

"It's rude to take back a gift once you've given it to someone," Ransford scolds her, using his free hand to grab the hand she's using to try and take the locket from him. "Our tutors spent months teaching you etiquette. Didn't any of it stick?"

"I shouldn't have given it to you," she mutters, her eyes growing dark with pent-up emotions. "It's a poor man's gift, and you're the heir to the Slatherty dynasty, so..."

"Now you're just insulting me," Ransford grumbles, pulling her flush against his chest and capturing her lips with his own.

If there's one technique that always lets him win any argument against the girl, it is kissing her. It always works because they both forget what they are arguing about the moment their lips meet. Sometimes, they remember again later, but that doesn't matter because their lips are always around to mediate.

"I love it, Merr," he whispers against her lips. "Having this means that I can return your underwear now."

"My underwear?!" Merry squeaks, pulling away from him to glare down at him. "Ransford!"

Merry only calls him Ransford when she's mad at him; all the other times, she insists on calling him Your Grace. It has become her pet name for him, and he's grown to love it.

"I miss you too when you're not around," he chuckles, grabbing her wrists when she tries to hit him. He doesn't really steal her underwear and takes it with him, but he does tie one of her ribbons around his wrist. Releasing her, he pushes up his sleeve to show it to her. "I love the pendant, Merr. I often lose your ribbons in a fight... or when my allies try to murder me. I'll wear this locket always."

"Not always," Merry laughs, making bug eyes at him. She feels a lot less foolish now that she sees the dirty ribbon tied around Ransford's wrist. She'd wondered why so many of her ribbons were constantly going missing. She even asked Uilliam once if he was using them for his experiments. "You only need to wear it when you go out into danger."

"That's not the only time I miss you," he assures her. "It's worse when I must go to Europe without you."

Merry winces at his words. It's true. Whenever their duties take the Slatherty men away from the island, she becomes ill if they stay away for more than a few days. Even on the days when she is not lying in bed with a fever, the longing for Ransford consumes her. She knows the physical symptoms are caused by their strong bond, but it is combined with deep love, which makes it even worse.

"My father has to dose me with Wolfsbane to prevent me from going rampant in the streets if we're gone more than three days," he tells her, and his earnest expression both amuses her and breaks her heart. She knows he is telling her the truth.

"It is going to look really good with that shirt I'm wearing to the royal ball I'm forced to attend next month."

"You can't wear it to the royal ball!" Merry exclaims, horrified. "Besides, you won't need it then. I'll be with you for the ball... as your wife..."

Ransford loves the way her cheeks become tinged with pink whenever she refers to herself as his wife. He knows it will eventually stop, but he would love it if she never got used to calling herself that and always blushed like this at the thought of being his wife.

"Why ever not?" he asks, giving her a haughty look and causing her to giggle again, but she cannot trust him not to follow through on his plan to wear it to the prestigious English ball.

"It's just a heart with a hinge Séamus made for me in his blacksmith workshop using pieces of a broken pewter cup!"

"That was very clever," Ransford grins, admiring the locket. "I might make him my official jeweller. I would never have thought a big, gruff bastard like him could make something this fine."

He means it. Séamus is a good blacksmith, but the man is burly and strong, unable to drink more than a pint of ale without becoming rowdy... in a fun way. Ransford would never have expected such delicate work from an uncivilized beast like Séamus Doyle.

"It's my most prized possession now, Merr!" he exclaims when she tries to take it from him again. "Stop trying to steal it! I'll have you put in chains for robbery! I'm wearing it."

Dodging her reaching hands, he ties the cord around his neck, enjoying the sensation of the small heart against his breastbone, exposed in the open part of the disaster that was once his shirt.

"Don't insult it, or I'll put you over my knee," he growls, narrowing his eyes and grinning at her. "I might do that anyway."

"Now ye're mockin' me, are ye?" Merry says, her blue eyes drowning in hurt.

"No, love, I'm not," Ransford assures her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her closer to bury his face in her neck. "I really love it. I love all your gifts, even the crazy ones. Even if I didn't like this locket - which I do, I like it a lot - I still would've loved it because of the heart and thought behind it."

Pushing her away to see her face, Ransford hooks his finger under the leather cord around Merry's neck and folds his hand over the locket containing a strand of his hair. It is warm from nestling between Merry's breasts, and he closes his eyes, enjoying her warmth.

"You are the most thoughtful person I know, Merr," he smiles, gazing into her eyes again. "The idea of always having a piece of you near my heart and a piece of me near yours makes me very happy. Thank you for this. I'll wear it inside my shirt when I go to the ball if that will make you feel better about it."

Seeing his sincerity and the love radiating brilliantly from his face, Merry's smile returns.

"I do, of course, wish I was this locket as it gets to go where you won't allow me to go," he grins, running his fingers up the cord to the neckline of her dress. His fingertips tease the frilled edge, running over Merry's soft skin, rousing ripples of excitement in their wake.

Laughing, Merry snakes her arms around his neck, laying her lips against his in a gentle kiss.

"I truly cannot wait to be your wife," she whispers, her breath tickling his skin.

"You can start practising now," Ransford grins, tipping her onto her back on the soft bed, leaning over her in a decidedly menacing way. Shrieking, Merry reaches out, grabs a pillow and hits him in the head with it.

"Do you have any idea how much I love you, Merry Doyle?" Ransford breathes, running his eyes over her face.

"Enough to take a bath?" Merry teases, wrinkling her nose. "You're really dirty, and you smell."

"That would be horse shit," he acknowledges solemnly. "You can thank Eoghan for that, by the way. He is as bad as your brothers. I'll take a bath... if you'll wash me."

"No!" Merry laughs, trying to push him off her.

"You need to practice, wench because you'll be giving me all my baths once we're married," Ransford informs her, making her laugh even more.

"No!"

"Yes," he chuckles, pinning her arms above her head to stop her from trying to wriggle out from under him.

"Merr," he whispers, closing his lips over hers. Sighing contentedly, Merry melts into him, allowing him to explore their softness and taste their sweetness.

She's surprised when he stops without her having to protest, and looking up into the face that fills all of her dreams with joy, she's unnerved to see that his eyes have gone black, with virtually no hint of silver left.

"Your Grace," she mutters nervously. "Do you need to go sit in the pond again?"

~~~

Uilliam Doyle, now officially known as Uilliam O'Neill, shifts the bowl of blackberries he'd picked for Aridan to the crook of his left arm and gently knocks on her bedroom door. He is surprised when there's no sound from inside and slowly opens the door.

The girl had been bedridden for three days now, and during lunch, she told him and Merry that she was desperate for some blackberries before their season passed but was loath to send one of the many servants working in the manor on such a frivolous errand.

He'd eagerly taken the task upon himself, waving away her protests when she said she regretted telling him because she wasn't trying to manipulate him into going out and picking some for her from the rambling shrubs taking over a section of the kitchen gardens.

Uilliam knows her well enough to know that it was not her intention, but he wanted to do something for her. He longs to see her smile again. She'd been melancholic since yesterday, hardly speaking to him at all while he read to her. Usually, she would interrupt to tell him her thoughts on a paragraph or a statement.

Mrs. McKenna, the nurse who is almost always present in Aridan's room, must've stepped out because the only person in the room is the girl curled on her side in the bed, facing the wall. Uilliam doesn't want to bother her if she is sleeping. He decides to leave the berries on her nightstand and return later when she's awake.

It started to rain while he was rinsing the berries in the kitchen, removing leaves and pieces of twigs that got plucked with the berries, and the room would've been dusky due to the clouds obliterating the sun. He is surprised to see that the thick curtains are drawn, covering all the windows. Aridan's eyes are very sensitive to light, but there isn't all that much of it to go around this afternoon.

The gloom makes it difficult for him to find his way to the nightstand despite the fact that his eyesight has become abnormally sharp since he was nursed with lord Alaric's blood. Not even the lightning makes it inside the room, though he can hear the sound of thunder clearly.

He'd made the mistake of closing the door when he came inside, and all he could see now were the dusky outlines of the furniture and the lump on the bed where he'd seen Aridan while the door was open.

The room would probably have been pitch black if his eyes weren't this good.

Carefully crossing the floor, he places the bowl on the bedside table. For a moment, he watches the still shape in the bed, his heart contracting painfully in his chest. He longs for the girl he loves, with the innocent love of a boy on the cusp of becoming a teenager, to wake up, get up and laugh with him again.

Having her in his life dulled the pain of losing his best friend and his family. He sees his brothers and Lorcan and Taillte at least once a week, but he misses having them around all the time.

It's better now, but it was hard at first.

Between Ransford, Merry and Aridan, the void in his heart became filled, and lord Alaric is a better father than he could ever dream of. Even the lord's brother and mother are really good to him, though his brother is lucid less and less often as time passes. He is often confined to his bed, sedated to keep him calm and pain-free.

Sighing, the boy turns to leave the room, but he stops when Aridan stirs, groaning softly.

"My lady," he whispers. "Are you awake? Shall I call Mrs. McKenna?"

Aridan stops moving, and he can tell that she's listening to his voice in the dark. Now that he is used to the gloom, he can see her lift a white hand to touch her head. She shudders, sniffling softly, and Uilliam's heart breaks for her.

"Aridan, are you in pain?" he asks gently. "I brought your blackberries. Perhaps if you ate a few, you'll feel better."

He knows that blackberries will not help her at all, but she hasn't been eating well, and perhaps tasting her favourite fruit will lift her spirits enough for her to feel less bad.

Aridan turns around as if her body weighs too much for her to manoeuvre on the bed, and Uilliam hurries closer to assist her. He knows he shouldn't be alone in her room with her or touch her while she's lying in her bed.

It's not proper!

He simply doesn't care right now. If she is struggling, he wants to help her. He cannot stand the thought of her in pain.

"Let me give you a hand," he whispers, taking her hand and getting ready to pull her onto her back. He will then help her onto her other side or to sit up if that is what she wants to do.

He can see her eyes gleaming wetly in the gloom when she looks at him, their moist surfaces catching the little light that makes its way into the room.

She's trying to say something, but all he can make out is weak grunts.

"What do you need?" Uilliam asks, leaning closer to hear what she has on her mind. He is startled by the strength in her hand when she closes her fingers over his, gripping tightly enough to hurt. The tips of her fingernails gradually cut into the back of his hand.

"Are you in pain?" he asks again, wincing, trying to stop himself from jerking his hand out of her grasp. She clearly needs his support, and he aims to give it to her, even if her nails are drawing blood. He can only imagine the amount of pain she must be in to cling to his hand like this and groan miserably between clenched teeth.

"Aridan?"

She stops groaning and slowly pulls herself upright, causing Uilliam to have to put in a lot of effort to brace himself so as not to fall on her. He finally manages to help her into a sitting position, but she is leaning heavily against him. He knows he'll have to call for help to settle her against the pillows. Though he is almost 12 years old now, he is not yet strong enough to do it by himself, especially not when the girl is just clinging to him, not cooperating in moving her.

He breathes out in relief when she finally lets go of his suffering hand, though he feels a bit scandalized when she wraps her arms around his neck. He knows it will be easier to move her up this way, but it saddens him to realise that she must be feeling really poorly to be this forward.

Normally, Aridan is as proper as her uncle. Perhaps she hasn't yet realised that it is Uilliam she's holding onto and not her nurse. He hopes that she won't be angry at him or think he tried to take advantage of her when she discovers who it is she's clinging to so intimately.

He shivers involuntarily when she turns her head and snuggles his neck, her breath causing goosebumps on his skin. This is definitely not allowed; lord Alaric will be really angry at him if he sees them now! Uilliam knows he has to loosen her arms from his neck and run away to seek help, but his heart is beating too fast. He has never had a girl in his arms like this before.

Still, he needs to get a hold of his stirred-up emotions and the unfamiliar excitement coursing through his blood. He should put her down against the pillows and leave the room, or this will become horribly awkward. He might get banned from ever entering her room or being alone with her again. Uilliam loves reading to her and listening to her - often hilarious - thoughts.

He is about to undo her grip when he stiffens, feeling Aridan's cool lips move against the hollow of his throat and up the side of his neck.

"My lady, this... this... this is not right," he stammers, trying to pull away, but the sensation is like nothing he has ever experienced before. He gives himself over to it for a moment, pulling her closer with a hand tangled in her long hair, the other holding her upright against him.

One moment, his blood is pumping hotly through his veins, and the next, he stiffens as it freezes solid while he listens to the sounds Aridan is making. Her lips move over the side of his neck, and she purrs softly.

Fear burns its way through every cell of his body as the sound conjures up images of dying boys and a blood-stained table. The smell of rot, decay and dirty hay burns his nose, causing his eyes to water. He can hear the sound of a small axe chopping through meat, bone and sinew. Chop... chop... chop...

Dáire!

Uilliam's scream of terror and painful memories is cut short when Aridan's fangs rip into the side of his neck, and his brain fills with white-hot, blinding pain.

~~~

When Ransford abruptly let her go and leapt from the bed, Merry teased him about his haste to get to the pond, but then his emotions hit her in a dark wave, and she realised that he was not once again overcome by his frightening desire for her. She rolled off the bed, gathered her dark gold and cream brocade skirt in her hands, and ran after him.

Running through one corridor after another, her heart beats roughly with trepidation. She can tell that something upsets the man she loves, but she is not quite able to grasp what it is.

Ransford is long gone, much too fast for her to keep up with, but she can follow his trail with an instinct she doesn't even think to question anymore. It leads her to the wing where Aridan's room is, and her throat closes up as she wonders if the girl took a turn for the worse.

Merry had lunch with Aridan and Uilliam, trying to coax her into eating, but the girl had been lethargic and lacking in appetite. Her eyes were haunted, breaking Merry's heart each time she looked into them. Uilliam went out to pick her some blackberries, though Merry knew the girl was only using her hankering for the fruit as an excuse for why she wasn't hungry and wouldn't eat her lunch.

Her heart is growing heavier with each step, and her concern for the girl she'd come to love as a little sister fills her heart to overflow.

When a sharp scream momentarily rents the air, Merry's step falters, and she nearly loses her balance.

Uilliam!

Regaining her footing, anxiety stabbing in her gut, she forges on, running from hallway to hallway until she reaches Aridan's bedroom. The door is open, and she is just in time to see Ransford rush from the room, carrying Aridan's limp body in his arms. He is gone before Merry can even say his name.

Entering the room, she gasps in shock, seeing lord Alaric sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, cradling her brother in his arms. He has a hand on Uilliam's neck, his fingers dripping with blood, while he rocks the boy.

"Please don't hurt her," Uilliam sobs. "Please don't hurt her! She didn't mean to! Please don't hurt her..."

"Shhht," lord Alaric soothes him. "Nobody's going to hurt her. I promise."

For a moment, Merry is not able to comprehend what she's seeing. She stares in horror at the tears flowing unchecked down the normally stoic lord's cheeks. When she can move again, she hurries to cross the floor on shaking legs to collapse beside him, wrapping her arms around the man and the boy. She doesn't quite understand everything about the curse yet, but her heart is breaking. As her grief merges with that of lord Alaric and Uilliam, Merry understands enough to know one thing without any doubt.

Aridan Slatherty's sweet laughter will never fill the halls of Slaughtaverty Manor ever again.

~~~