New World Sasanaichs

Sixteen

February, 1745

Roughly six weeks after celebrating Yule, Christmas, and Hogmanay one right after the other, Life on Morgan’s Peak was fairly quiet and peaceful. All the Gold from King Louis XV that’d been brought to North Carolina’d long since been taken back to the Drow Realm, where Garran’d wasted no Time in melting it down. Most of it’d been repoured so it’d be in the form in ingots, just without the telltale fleur de Lis that’d originally been stamped on them, but part of it’d been turned into other things. In fact, some’d been poured so they could make coins that could be traded with all sortsa other races–including humanity–that’d be stamped right before they were actually used.

        And true to his word, the Drow King’d shared the Secret of how to make his people’s special, exploding arrowheads with his nephew like he’d said he would. That Secret’d since been shared with the sons who were old enough to go anywhere near a forge, as well as Jamie–they were the only ones old enough to work the spells necessary to actually enchant the Diamond heads. But aside from them, only the Drow who made them for their own people kent the Secret of how to make such a devastating weapon.

        However, one Day about a week after what their resident Pagans referred to as the Sabbat of Imbolc, the ginger lad was summoned to the barn for another foaling. Morna’d gone out to check on the Horses since she’d taken a liking to the Animals, now that she was able to spend more Time with them and not have to listen to her father bitching about her wanting to do anything more than mount up sidesaddle. When she’d entered said structure, she’d found that Saoirse’s mare was on the verge of delivering, but she seemed to be having trouble that she couldn’t help with. For that reason, she’d made her rounds of all the cabins and enlisted the aid of the first lad she could find since she was certain extra muscle’d be required. Thankfully, it turned out to be a good call on the lass’ part, ’cuz her quick thinking and action’d saved both mother and foal from a slow, painful Death.

        Once the foal’d been safely delivered, the cousins’d been able to breathe a sigh of relief as much as the Mare, who’d instantly turned her attention to her newborn. But both were now filthy as a result of the foaling, which the ginger lad had been forced to enlist his cousin’s help with, even though that’d left her in nothing but her shift. They’d no choice but to head to the nearby Stream to wash up a bit, considering neither’d be allowed back in their homes, as bad as they stank at the moment. However, he didn’t realize that his younger cousin’d a bit of a plan in mind that’d leave him feeling more than a bit disturbed for a long while to come.

        “Mmmph!” Jamie was more than a lil startled when he suddenly felt lips that didn’t belong to his wife on his own, a hand that didn’t belong to her or himself grab him through the front of his kilt.

        “Mmm,” his cousin hummed, pressing herself closer to him.

        Managing to break the kiss without hurting her, he lost his own balance and landed in the Stream with a splash! as he stumbled over a rock. “L-Lass–”

        Morna’s face heated up, and she quickly averted her gaze as he slowly pushed himself up to his feet.

        “I dinna ken yer meaning wi’ this, but…” The ginger man shook himself like a Dog, uncaring of whether he got her wet or not as he tried to decide whether he should be horrified, enraged, or both.

        “Weel, this is how bedding a lass starts, aye?” she queried, gathering enough Courage to look back up at him.

        “What!?” Jamie’s jaw dropped in shock. “Lass, ye’re me cousin–and I’ma marrit lad!”