The real Mother Goose

His hair was long, his face full of beard, but his eyes were his, dark and mischievous, although more tired than she remembered. His clothes were strange, unfamiliar to her, but it was him. Artan was home.

She threw herself into his arms, and he took her weight easily, laughing as she kicked and screamed and pounded him.

“Where have you been!” she howled, beating his chest with her flailing fists, alternately kissing him and hitting him. “We thought…we thought…you were d-d…dead!”

“Far from it,” he assured her, cupping her face in his hands, his eyes searching her face. “Looks like you’ve gotten yourself into a bit of trouble, is that so?” Mother closed her eyes, shook her head, and laughed as she blinked at him, making sure he was still there. “Not anymore. Nothing matters now.”

“Mar-” She stopped his words with her lips, needing him, an assurance, he was here, he was home, he was hers. Their mouths slanted hungrily, bodies moving in long-remembered motion. The clothes gave them both pause, her unfamiliar breeches, his strange attire, but still, it wasn’t long before he was inside of her, piercing her to the very core of her being.

“Oh lover,” she sobbed, clutching him, pulling him onto, into her, wanting him deeper. “Husband, oh, Artan, love me, love me.”

“I do,” he whispered into her hair, their joining the final reality, the only moment that mattered. “Oh Mar, I’ve missed you

“Shhhhh.” She kissed him quiet, wrapping her legs around his waist, grinding her hips into his, giving him as much of herself as she possibly could. His cock was like iron in the wet heated forge of her flesh, and she was determined to soften him. Artan lowered his head to hers with a groan as she began to spasm, shuddering beneath him with a higher pleasure than she could ever remember.

“Ahhh!” He thrust again, one last glorious trip through her wetness, and emptied himself into her very center. Finally, finally. She held him close, refusing to let him go, keeping him there, kissing his cheeks, his mouth, until he softened inside of her and on top of her, too.

“I couldn’t get back.” He finally explained. “The King had men guarding the exit to the portal. They were ready to kill me.”

Mother shivered, pulling her clothes quickly back on, scanning the field, remembering now the danger they were in. “We need to go. Quickly.” They both had stories to tell, but it could be done while they were on the move.

She explained her predicament as briefly as she could, telling him of the taking of Jack and Jill, how afraid she was for their safety.

“I wouldn’t have thought him possible of anything truly heinous.” Artan frowned as he dressed quickly himself. “Until now.”

“Why does he want to kill you?” She stood, reaching for his hand.

Artan lifted his medallion-the one she’d given him. “This.”

“What is it?” she whispered, realizing with a shiver that she’d been responsible for giving him the very thing he might have been killed for.

“My past.” He took her offered hand, standing and pulling her into his arms. “My future.” Puzzled, she shook her head, and he explained further, “It’s a key to the portal.

Among other things.”

“That’s how you came through, even after it was closed?” He nodded, pulling her in to him and kissing her, hard. “Maren, I tried. I even tried to get messages back to you, to tell you I was coming home, as soon as I could.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.”

Artan reached down and picked up a dark bag she hadn’t noticed he’d brought through with him. “Let’s go.”

“What’s that?” she queried, reaching for the bag, but he held it out of her reach.

“Later.” He grinned. “First, we have a date with the King.”

Chapter Nine

Mother Goose

Old Mother Goose,

When she wanted to wander,

Would ride through the air

On a very fine gander.

“Keep it safe. And keep it warm.” Father Goose’s last cryptic instructions were tossed over his shoulder to Willie as they left their own estate through one of the small, secret passages throughout the house. Mother had never ventured into them, but Father knew their ways like the back of his hand, and it had afforded them a way in and out, in spite of the guard the King had set at their front gate.

“What is in that bag?” Mother insisted knowing, but he just shook his head, taking her hand and helping her up onto the horse. They would have to go the long way around so as not to alert the King too soon, but their masks and the leash Mother was being led on would give them some cover, even after they’d entered the hall. There were always costumes and masks worn by some at court, and theirs wouldn’t cause heads to turn.

“I hate collars,” she complained as he mounted the horse behind her, and she felt him chuckle as he took the reins.