Page 16 of Simon Says

CHAPTER THREE

Sven took themto the pay-for-use showers, then dropped them at the ferry that would take them to the island of Faefnar. Sven rubbed noses with Sorcha in an Eskimo kiss that might have been cute if Simon hadn’t been forced to witness it.

It was a two hour wait and a forty minute trip. Simon fumed and pouted for the first twenty minutes about Sven getting close enough to Sorcha to touch her, but couldn’t tell her why he was being a butthead. Once they were out on the water, and safely away from Sven, Simon began to relax and put the parting into perspective.

He broke the silence by asking, “What are you hoping to find?”

“I actually work at steerin’ away from preconceived ideas. I’m more likely to notice something noteworthy that way. What are you hopin’ to find?”

“Ecstatic sex inside a fairy ring.”

Her surprised laughter was mingled with a series of feminine snorts that Simon found utterly charming. He had the presence of mind to question that and smiled to himself as he wondered if he’d think her farts were charming as well.

“Well, dependin’ on how many other curiosity seekers we find there, you might get lucky. Anything else?”

“Like you said. I’m working on clearing my mind and my heart.”

“How’s that goin’?”

He swung his gaze away from the passing view to fix on her. His eyes roamed over her face then moved back and forth, looking at one of her eyes then the other, as if he was trying to read her mind. “Better than I dared to hope.”

Sorcha’s chin dropped slightly as she felt a blush begin for the first time in her life. Like elves, fae are the furthest thing from shy about sex, and flirtation is a national pastime, but the look on Simon’s face and his words, in combination, conveyed something she’d never experienced. Intimacy. She liked it. And as time passed, minute by minute, she was coming to dread the idea of losing it.

Simon reached over and covered her hand with his in the most basic expression of affection. She laced her fingers in his, looked down at their two hands joined together and smiled. That simple response made his chest expand with the white heat of hope.

They had lunch in the village then caught a ride with a sheep farmer who was going their way with the back of his short bed truck empty except for a couple of sacks of grain. He dropped them off just a one hour walk from the ring.

As they walked, Sorcha said, “Do you know anything about the ring?”

“Not nearly as much as you, I’m sure. I know the stones have been there for four thousand years or so, but I don’t know who put them there, why they’re there, or where they came from.”

She laughed.

“What’s funny?” he said good-naturedly.

“You just summed it up in an expertly concise way. The Scotia fae and Irish elves had no’ come to be here. By that time. ’Twas a mystery from the very beginnin’. Someday someone will solve it.”

Simon looked over at her. “And you wish that could be you?”

She smiled. “Aye. Me and thousands of others. The other part of it. There were sixty of the stones. A third are gone. ’Tis almost as big a mystery as the ones left standin’.”

“Maybe creatures from another dimension put them here and then decided to take some back.” He chuckled, oblivious to how many times in the future he would think back on that innocent remark and wish he’d taken himself more seriously.

When they arrived at the site, they found that someone was camping between the water and the ring.

“Tarnation,” Simon muttered, which caused Sorcha to laugh.

The camper was inside the ring. If Simon had to guess, he’d have said that the man was taking measurements with a small laser-equipped device and making handwritten notes, the old-school way. He waved when he noticed them. So Simon and Sorcha walked over, introduced themselves, and invited him to share dinner.

They chatted amiably with the fiery redheaded fae who gave his name as Rogerin. He was in his early forties, although with elves or fae, it was very hard to guess age. Rogerin said that he’d been fascinated with the Neolithic remains since childhood and that he visited whenever he could.

When the sun began to set, Rogerin thanked them for dinner and company, and retired to his own camp site.

Grateful to be alone again, Simon and Sorcha zipped themselves into their sleeping bag and snuggled together, giggling like children. They whispered like they could be heard.

“Now that I know how sensitive these ears are,” Simon traced the outside of Sorcha’s pointed ear, “I’m bashful. Not an exhibitionist. And I don’t see any reason to make the poor man crazy,” he added.

So they settled for kissing, petting, and fondling. Before they fell asleep, Simon was treated to a hand job that severely tested his ability to remain silent.

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