He moved his hand so that his thumb grazed the sensitive pearl of her sex every time she came to rest while, at the same time, he was captivated by the feel of her sex meeting his with his hand. She cried out her release, moving faster and harder until he joined her. They stayed where they were, catching breath, exulting in the pleasure of each other and their new status as officially mated. After a moment he looked down, spied the blue garter, and smiled broadly.
"And what is this?" Ram asked as he hooked two fingers under the elastic.
"Katrina made a point of pointing out that it is blue."
Ram laughed. "'Tis a weddin' tradition for good luck. 'Tis a rhyme as well. The bride wears somethin' old, somethin' new, somethin' borrowed, and somethin' blue."
"Oh. I wish I'd known the significance. Your mother gave me the necklace," she touched it as she spoke, "saying it belonged to your great-grandmother. I guess that qualifies as old. The earrings are a gift from Aelsblood. Song even said, 'Tis something new' when she handed me the box. She insisted I borrow this bracelet that matches the necklace." She covered his face with tiny kisses then sat up. "So this means we'll be blessed with good luck?"
"'Twas already proclaimed. Happily ever after and nothin' less." He pulled her down into a kiss then removed the garter. "I believe this is intended to become the property of the groom."
"Who says?"
Ram shrugged, pulled it on over his sleeve until it circled his bicep then popped it suggestively with a broad smile. That's when they heard banging at the door. Elora rose and tried to rearrange the skirt of the dress hoping she had saved herself from becoming noticeably disheveled. She knew the color in her face would be higher than usual. It always was after making love to the stunning, garter-wearing elf whose pleasure-giving c**k had just disappeared behind a codpiece.
They opened the door to find Tepring standing there with hands on hips.
"Mum! Come to offer us congratulations?" He grinned mischievously.
She was not to be put off her mission. "You two are supposed to be leadin' a waltz. Remember?"
Elora looked embarrassed by the situation and Ram suddenly felt defensive. "You are embarrassin' my bride, the mother of your grandson. The whole lot of wankers in there is no' worth that."
Tepring pursed her lips while she contemplated being corrected by her second son. Then she turned to Elora. "Rammel is correct. 'Tis your weddin' day and you should have some say o'er what transpires. Shall we proceed without you?"
"Not at all," Elora said. "We're on the way. One waltz coming up."
Tepring nodded and started away, but stopped suddenly and turned around. "Grandson. The baby is a boy? How do you know?"
"How do you think? Aelsong." Ram was not as respectful as he could have been, but he was feeling perturbed toward his mother.
"What's his name?" Tepring's entire posture had changed. She looked as enraptured as if she had just learned about the baby on the way.
"Do no' know. My bride is goin' to name him." He looked at Elora like he idolized her. "'Tis my gift to her.”
"Oh, well, if you need suggestions..."
"She does no' need suggestions, Mum."
Tepring looked at Elora. "With all the planning I may have been remiss in no' tellin' you sooner how happy we are." She didn't wait for a response, but rushed away with a spryness that was admirable for someone her age.
"Do no' be embarrassed, Elora," Ram said in her ear. "She's right. 'Tis our weddin' day and we can spend it in each other’s arms if we choose."
She smiled at Ram. "Let's dance."
Engel Storm was the sort of person who believed there are very few gray areas in life and even fewer when it comes to questions of ethics and morality. He believed that the right thing to do was always evident to someone who was looking honestly for it and that, once that "right thing" had been identified, it was an acquired target; something to be done without further debate or question.
If sometimes that happened to be hard, well, that was just too damn bad. Not up for debate. That was the personal code that had kept him in good stead for as long as he cared to remember, certainly ever since he had been recruited by Black Swan. Even with the horrors he had witnessed as a field active knight, he usually slept well.
The day of the Laiken-Hawking handfasting was the first time Storm had ever confronted a "right thing" that felt impossible to execute. He hadn't struggled too much with accepting the invitation to come. It was the right thing to do. So he did it.
He hadn't struggled too much with being included in the wedding party, with learning reels or watching the happy couple at meals or even letting Elora teach him to waltz. But he couldn't figure out how he was going to make himself get in that receiving line and give his congratulations to Ram and Elora. A lump formed in his throat when he pictured it in his mind.
It was the right thing to do. No question about it. Still, he stood alone in a small alcove with a large ale, away from the festivity, and argued with himself for some time. He tried to tell himself that there were so many people, Ram and Elora wouldn't notice his absence. He tried to tell himself that he could always congratulate them later. Last, indulging in a completely foreign and ill-fitting moment of self pity, he told himself that he had already done enough.
That was right before Engel Storm's nobility marshaled his innate character and triumphed over every argument, or excuse, that might have been made by a lesser man. He set down the ale, pulled his shoulders back and emerged from the alcove with determination, only to find that the receiving line had dispersed. The newlyweds were nowhere in sight. He felt a momentary jab of panic, thinking he may have lost a once in a lifetime opportunity to do the right thing by adding his well wishes to those from others.
He searched the ballroom asking first one person, then another, if they had seen the bride and groom. When he was sure they were not within, he rushed out into the wide hallway. He looked to his right and saw only a long expanse of white and black checkerboard marble tiles with formal military security posted every ten feet. He looked to his left and, to his very great and visible relief, saw the pair hurrying toward him hand in hand, the two of them looking so perfect together.