Goblins - Sex Stories

Goblins

... head a bit. Peter paused for a moment, mulling this over. He closed the ledger and went to the window. The garden below was a carnival of yellow sun and flower petals. He breathed deep, as if trying to inhale the essence of the place, and then he said, “All right.” Megan felt a knot untie itself in her chest. “We'll go?” she said. “I don't understand what you're saying, but yes, if you feel this strongly then we can go. I know how much you care about the twins. We came here because…I don’t know why, really. Something about family. After their mother…that is to say…well, I don't think this place is really doing any good for all of us after all, is my point. So we'll go.” “Oh, Peter. Thank you.” “It will take a few days to put everything in order. In the meantime, if you really think there's any danger then make sure one of the staff is with the children all the time. I trust that you'll eventually tell me what this is all about?” “I will. I'm so relieved that I...excuse me, I'm sorry.” If she said anything more she would probably cry, so instead she kissed his hand again. “Go tell the children,” Peter said. Then he made a kind of sigh. “And if you want the garden boy to come with us I'm sure we can find something for him to do in the city.” Megan almost tripped on her dress. “Oh. I...” But this was no time to think about that (if there even was a time?), so she left without saying more. She had a spring in her step as she went to the kitchens. Even meeting Mrs. Rhoslyn there ...

... could not spoil her mood. She appeared to be baking. “Bakestones,” she said. “Try one.” Megan accepted and found they were good. Mrs. Rhoslyn talked while she picked one apart. “I hear you've lost your young man.” “I'm sure I don't know who you mean, but it would be none of your business even if I did.” “Don't be tart. I was just going to say what a shame it was. He has a good head on his shoulders. And good shoulders, for that matter. Do you know what tonight is?” Mrs. Rhoslyn wiped her flour-covered fingers on her apron. “It's Midsummer's Eve. Sneaks right up on you when you're not paying attention, doesn't it? My father once met a gwyllion on the road one Midsummer's Eve. I don't suppose you know what a gwyllion is?” Megan did not. “Trouble is what they are,” was all Mrs. Rhoslyn would say. “Led my poor father quite a chase. He didn't hold any grudge, though. He knew he oughtn’t to have been out on a mountain road on that of all nights.” Megan had finished the cake by now and brushed her hands off. “What exactly are you saying, Mrs. Rhoslyn?” “Only that it can be a bad night for strangers. If they're not careful.” The lingering taste of the cake seemed bitter in Megan's mouth now. Megan tucked the children back in their old bedroom that night (since the study had proved no safer). Then she paced the hall, chewing her fingernails. A few more days in this place. It didn't feel safe to sleep. She wanted to see Bryn, but of course he wasn't there. The idea of his little cottage ...