A Snow moon christmas

Braking the ice

*Merida*

I know I should knock my skates against the side of his skull, render him unconscious, and run for my life. Instead, I release my hold on them and wind my arms around his neck. As he moves in, I welcome the weight and warmth of his body pressing against me.

It's wrong, so very wrong for me to enjoy his kiss, to want his kiss. Without liquor flavoring his tongue, he still tastes marvelous. Rich and sinful. Decadent. His gloved hands come up, hold my head, provide a cushion against the hard bark. He takes the kiss deeper, his tongue swirling through my mouth, stirring carnal cravings to life.

There was a time when I thought I would die from wanting a kiss from him. I never felt that way with Lightfoot. When he kissed me, his lips upon mine were pleasant. But I never thought that together we could melt snow.

With Chester, I'm fairly certain that when he's done with me, I will find myself in a puddle of icy water. I stroke my hands over his shoulders. He is firm, strong. I know he enjoys the outdoors as much as I do. His body reflects his passions. At one time, I had hoped to become one of them.

He slides his lips from mine, nuzzling my neck, his mouth somehow finding its way beneath my collar, the heat of his breath coating dew along my skin. "Until Christmas, Merry, give me until Christmas to prove my affections are true."

Everything within me wants to scream, ‘Yes!’ But my heart, still bruised, whispers, "No."

"I'm afraid," I say, my voice as rough and raw as my soul.

Drawing back, he holds my gaze, his rapid breaths visible in the cold air mingling with mine. "I won't hurt you again, I swear it."

He takes my wrist. I want to wrench it free, but instead, I am mesmerized watching as he brings it to his lips, crooks a finger beneath my cuff, and reveals a tiny bit of flesh. Gently, reverently, he places his mouth there and closes his eyes as though he has acquired heaven. My breath catches, even as my heart speeds into a wild gallop.

"Until Christmas, Merry," he whispers in a hoarse voice. "It's not so very long, and I'm a much better choice than Lightfoot."

He opens his eyes, and the intensity I see there almost drops me to my knees. "It's too late, Chester," I say.

"Even if you were standing at the altar at this moment, it wouldn't be too late. It's not too late until you exchange vows, until you sign the marriage register."

Shaking my head, I push him back and skirt away from him. I tug down my cuff, yank up my glove, but still, I can feel the press of his lips against my wrist. I want to rub the sensation away, while at the same time I want to place it in a gilded box so I can keep it. "I trusted you with my heart once. I won't do it again."

"I know I bruised your feelings." He says softly.

"You did nothing of the sort." I reach down, snatching up my skates.

"I won't give up," he says. "Not until Christmas."

"Why that particular day?" I ask.

He sends me a small smile. "Because your love is the only gift I wish to receive."

Oh, how I truly want to believe the words, to bask in them, glory in them. But he had toyed with my affections once. I will not be so quick to fall for him again. "And with my love comes my dowry. How do I know it's not what you are truly after?"

"I don't give a damn about your dowry. I will find a way to prove that to you as well." He says.

"Even if you earn my love, you won't win my hand. Father promised it to Lightfoot." I point out.

He narrows his eyes. "Was it not your choice to marry him? Are the rumors true? Did he take advantage?"

"It was only a kiss, but we were caught. I wanted the kiss, and I want to marry him." Or at least I have convinced myself that I want to marry him because, in truth, I have no choice. My father would have it no other way.

I wonder if a time will ever come when women don't have to obey their fathers, when they will have the full freedom of adulthood. Although even my brothers, older than I, still obey our father. "The pond is just over the rise," I say, to steer us away from the conversation and a promise I don't want to make.

Chester and I carry on in companionable silence as the sky darkens and snow begins to blow around us.

"Perhaps we should turn back," he says.

"Giving up so easily, Chester?" I tease.

"Where you are concerned, never again." He promises.

I don't want to admit that, with his words, something within me sings as clearly as the birds of spring.

******

The snow falls more thickly by the time we reach the pond.

"I wouldn't recommend we stay overly long," Chester says. "Our tracks will soon disappear, and we will have a difficult time finding our way back."

Something tells me that we shouldn't stay at all. We have walked quite a distance. The wind has picked up and is whining through the trees. Soon it will be howling. But the water is frozen and the ice inviting. "One trip around the outer edge, and we will head back," I say.

I glance around, striving to determine where I can sit without gaining a damp bottom.

"Lean against that tree there," he says. "I will slip your blades onto your shoes."

After handing him my blades, I do as he suggests. With my back against the bark, I watch as he kneels in the snow. He lifts his gaze to mine, and a sharp pang rips through me. I had dreamed of him in that position, only he was going to ask me to become his mate and wife. I swallow hard at the memory of how badly I had wanted it.

Chester pats his knee. "Give me your foot."

With my hands to the side, gripping the trunk of the tree, I lift my foot. Bending his head, he goes to work securing the wooden blade to my shoe.

Give him until Christmas to prove he is worthy of my affections? I don't think he will need more than a day. What of poor Lightfoot? I know what it is to be cast aside. He certainly doesn't deserve such unkind treatment, but is it kinder to let him go when I long for another?

When Chester finishes with one foot, I place the other on his knee.

"A pity you didn't bring blades," I tell him.

He smiles up at me. "I shall walk along beside you."

"On the ice?" I ask.

"On the bank." He answers.

"I shan't be able to skate very far."

He sets my other foot aside and unfolds that long, lean body of his. "As you don't know how thick the ice is, you are better off staying close to shore, where the water is shallow. If you break through the ice, you will only get your feet wet."

"I'm familiar with the dangers of ice skating. I have never had ice buckle beneath me." I say.

"Then let's not have today be the first time."

I don't think it will be. It's so terribly cold up here. If I didn't spend a good deal of my time outdoors, I would no doubt be shivering. But my woolen riding habit and heavy cloak help to keep me somewhat warm. Having Chester nearby doesn't hurt either.

With my hand on his arm, I cut a swathe through the snow until we reach the pond.

Along the edge are some very old trees, their roots reaching into the water. It's strange, but the color of the bark viewed through the ice reminds me of the eyes of the heirs of the Snow Moon.

"Do you suppose it's possible that the Alpha of the Snow Moon's ancestors studied these roots in the pond in winter for so long that it changed the shade of their eyes?" I ask.

"Are you trying to weave a fairy tale?" He teases.

I shrug. "I guess I am being fanciful. I tend to do that from time to time. It's only that they have such unusual eyes, a hazel I have not seen on anyone else."

"Not boring like mine." He sighs.

I jerk my head around to stare at him. "They are not boring." They are the color of the summer sky on the warmest day. And they speak volumes, which is the reason that I thought he would be asking for my hand. I had read so much into his words based on what his eyes were saying. Now I'm afraid to read too much, to believe that the affection I see there is true.

He leads me onto the ice. While he may wish to walk alongside me, I glide much faster than he walks. I slip my hand away from his.

"Don't go out far, Merry." He warns.

"Honestly, Chester, you worry too much. The Luna told me that the pond has been iced over for a couple of weeks now."

He shakes his head. "That doesn't mean it's perfectly safe."

Safer than you, I think. I welcome the brisk air brushing over my face, the snow melting on my eyelashes. With the silence, I can almost imagine that I'm completely and absolutely alone. It's what I thought I wanted.

Only now I realize that I want to be with him: walking, talking, my arm linked with his. I pirouette to face him. I hear a c***k like that of thunder. He is rushing toward me.

"Merry, don't move!" He calls out.

Another c***k, louder than the first, and I realize with horror that the storm isn't above me, but beneath me.

"Chester!"

Then the ice gives way.