Stitches in Time (3 page)

“What? Are you crazy?” Liam’s voice bellowed through the door and Maggie felt a bit of tension creeping back in. No, she was not going to let his problems bother her. She ducked down under the water to wet her hair and block out the discussion going on in the other room.

The still-hot water worked its magic and her face relaxed. She stayed under as long as she could before coming up and wiping the water from her eyes. Eying the sink, Maggie thought about the best way to wash this long mop of hers. That tiny sink was way too small; half her hair would end up being pulled down the drain. A small bottle of hotel shampoo rested on a shelf beside her and she opened it, pouring out a generous amount to use on her hair. What the heck. If they billed the room for additional bottles, let them. He wasn’t the only one who might take a small advantage of that expense account.

Gathering her long auburn tresses, she worked the soap into her scalp, piling the long locks on top of her head. The soap would keep her hair out of her face for a while. Waving her hands in the water, she churned up more bubbles to play with as the relatively cool air of the bathroom gave her goose bumps. She grinned at her nipples, now standing straight out. Pinching them a bit to make them hard, her body responded and a different form of relaxation stole over her. Moaning in satisfaction, she leaned against the tub again, letting her head rest on the back while one hand dipped lower in the water.

Pinching her nipple again as her fingers found her clit, her sudden intake of breath, followed by a small moan, echoed in the quiet room. There was no need to remind
herself
to be quiet—after years of doing this on the sly, silence was ingrained. Maggie was no stranger to creating her own orgasms; creating “le petite mal” at her own hand greatly reduced her daily stress. Although her virginity was lost in college, since coming to work for her father, she had put aside relationships with men to concentrate on her family obligations. But her lack of a sex life was no one’s business but hers, and as her fingers slipped along her slit her moans became sighs of contentment.

Slipping one finger into her tight vagina, her other hand slid over her belly to find her clit and tease it. Her body relaxed even further as that tiny organ slipped out from under its hood. Maggie floated in peacefulness; surrounded by bubbles, her eyes closed as her thoughts drifted to her fantasy lover.

For several months now, he had been taking shape in her thoughts. He was tall—over a head taller than
her own
five-and-a-half foot frame—broad-shouldered and muscular, but not overly so. No bodybuilder for her. Her lips parted as she imagined him walking through the bathroom door to find her naked in the bath. With increasing
fervor
, her fingers rubbed along the sides of her clit as she slipped two fingers into her pussy. His shirt was open…no, he wore no shirt…and the soft downy hair of his chest shimmered in the diffused light of her imagination.

She watched in fascination as her imaginary lover slowly peeled off his trousers to reveal a magnificent cock nestled between strong thighs of well-toned muscle.
A cock already long and hard and pulsing; its glistening head deep purple with desire.
Her lover teased her now, turning so she could look her fill. Was there anything more perfect than a man’s ass?
Especially his.
Firm,
molded
, muscled. She longed to run her hands over and between those magnificent cheeks. In her mind’s eye, he turned, drew closer and her body arched, inviting him. His thick cock was at her mouth and she licked her lips in anticipation. Driving her fingers deep into her open hole, she pressed on her clit. Her body gently convulsed as the rolling waves of her orgasm rolled through her. Unable to stop herself, a loud moan escaped even as her fantasy lover faded.

Opening her eyes, Maggie needed a moment to reorient. A satisfied smile spread across her wet lips and she bit the bottom one between her teeth as she stretched and enjoyed the last of the spasms spreading from her clit.

Slowly she became aware that the water had gone cold. With a sigh for her fading fantasy lover, she leaned forward to pull the plug. A hard knocking at the door made her jump and splash water onto the floor.

“That’s a shared bathroom, woman. Your hour is up!”

Anger came back with a rush. How dare he? “I’ll get out when I’m good and ready to get out!” she shot back.

Defiantly, she leaned back in the tub. But a soapy lock of hair fell down into her face and the water was now uncomfortably cold. Ripping the plug from the drain, she stood, letting the water cascade from her as she shook each shapely leg and stepped out of the tub.

The towels were long and thick with a terrycloth pile and gratefully Maggie wrapped one around her. It was then she saw the rubber hose with a sprinkler head at one end; the other end obviously fit over the faucet to make a makeshift shower.
Perfect for rinsing her hair.

Throwing a small towel over the tub’s side, Maggie attached the tubing and turned on the water, which immediately sprayed out the nozzle. Grinning, she bent down and let the hot water run over her head, her fingers combing her hair to remove all the soap. It took only a few moments to rinse and twist her hair up into another towel.

It was then she discovered a terrible truth. The only clothes she had in the little room were the soiled ones she had just taken off. They lay in a sodden heap beside the bath where she dropped them in her fit of carelessness, soaked when she splashed at his knock. Maggie had no clothes to wear to get from here to her suitcase.

* * * * *

The bellhop held a shirt-sized box tied with twine in his hands, an expectant look on his face. Liam sighed.
The tapestry.
And another five Euros out of his pocket.
Still, you never knew when a generous tip would pay off. Closing the door, he took the box to the bed and sat, running his fingers through his dark curly hair.

Why had he bought this thing? And what was he going to do with it now? In Maggie’s present mood, no way was he going to just hand this to her. She was mad enough just because he had been nice and put her suitcase up on the bed. Damn that woman! A leprechaun torn from an old tapestry catches her fancy and he goes and buys it for her because…he shook his head.
Because the leprechaun told him to.
No more Irish coffee for Liam
Finnerty
, that was for darn sure!

The box jumped in his hands. Startled, Liam dropped it on the floor and stared. A not-so-gentle rapping came from inside the lid and Liam stood, putting several feet between
himself
and the box. In his shock, he spoke out loud. “No, it wasn’t real. Leprechauns don’t really exist, especially not leprechauns in tapestries that talk. Okay, so I’m in Ireland. Lots of Irishmen like to tell stories about the little people. But they don’t exist. I was delivered the wrong box is
all.
That’s it, it’s the wrong box.”

“Open it up, me boy-o! It’s dark in here. I like me light, so be a good boy and open the box, lad.”

There was no mistaking that brogue or that voice. “You’re a figment of me…of my imagination. Go away.” Liam fought to retain his carefully cultured standard American accent.

“Can’t.
You bought me piece of the tapestry.” Even though muffled by the box, the leprechaun’s voice came through loud and clear.

“Oh, fine.” Liam picked up the box and dropped it on the bed. Scissors and knives were no longer allowed on planes, so he didn’t have his trusty pocketknife. Bending to the task of unknotting the twine, he thought he heard a moan from the bath.

Remaining still, he listened intently, but there was no further sound. “Damn woman,” he muttered again, just because he felt like it.

The knot came loose and Liam set the box on the bed, carefully nudging up one corner to peek inside.

“Oh, come on, man! I’m not going to bite you.” With that, the leprechaun pushed on the lid and it fell off to one side.

“You…you’re standing.” Liam stated the obvious.

“Well, now, it would be impolite to carry on a conversation with
ye
from lying down, now, wouldn’t it? Of course, I’m standing.” The little man planted his feet wide and put his fists on his hips.

Liam peered around the leprechaun. Mounted in an oak frame, no glass covered the work of art, a fact that had slipped by him before. The rock was still there, and the bole of the tree, but the space previously occupied by the little elf-like creature had filled in to look like grass. The leprechaun was still clothed in the traditional dark green frockcoat and breeches, the buckles on his shoes tarnished with age. Liam squinted at him. Was he three dimensional now?

Keeping a wary eye on the little man, Liam circled around the box where it lay on the bed. The leprechaun, narrowing his eyes as well, turned with him.

“Stop that!” Liam snapped. “Let me see your back.”

“No. Ye don’t want to see it. It isn’t pretty an’ you’ll only see me front.”

Liam gave up trying. He was getting dizzy. “I suppose your name is Darby
O’Gill
.”

“It isn’t. And I’ll thank
ye
kindly for not
givin
’ me the name of that old sot.”

The little man crossed his arms and looked decidedly out of sorts. He put his foot up in the air and the rock from the tapestry rose to meet it so the leprechaun could put his foot against it. Liam closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. He didn’t want to believe there really was a leprechaun taking his ease in his hotel room. “Well, are you going to tell me your name? Or do I have to guess it like
Rumplestiltzkin
?”

With a snort, the leprechaun sat on his rock.
“Not likely. ‘
E was a mean old bugger.
Got what ‘e deserved, ‘e did.”

“I suppose you knew him.”

“Of course.
Know all the little people. We’re not a very big community, ye know.” The leprechaun’s tone took on a pedantic tone and Liam hastened to cut him off.

“So what is your name, then, little leprechaun?” Maybe if he patronized the little sucker he could get rid of him.

“Oh, so it’s rude
yer
goin
’ to be to me! Is that the way of it? Well, then. Perhaps I ought to just go into that there bath and tell the naked little woman that
yer
madly in love with her and can’t wait to jump her bones.”

“What!?
Are you crazy?” Liam’s voice rose and a sudden quiet from the bathroom made him lower his voice. “Besides, no matter how much you might want to be a peeping Tom, you can’t leave that tapestry, so don’t go making threats, you puny pipsqueak.” Liam was rather pleased at his alliteration, although the leprechaun was not.

“Oh, now, me boy-o, now ye done it.
Ye’ve
gone and called me
honor
into question.” The little man took a glove out of one of his deep side pockets and waved it in the air as if striking Liam on the cheek.

“Ouch!” Liam’s hand flew to his cheek, which most definitely stung from the blow.

“Pull out your sword, man. I’ll fight
ye
fair.” From somewhere, the leprechaun produced a tiny silver sword no bigger than a toothpick. Liam was about to protest the absolute ridiculousness of the fight, when a sword appeared in his hand. For several moments, he stared at it, wearing a blank look as his mind wrestled with the inconceivable.

“Well, c’mon, man. Put it up.” The leprechaun held his sword to his nose in a salute.

Liam, his brain wrapped in a fog, did the same. Dimly he noted the writing along the flat side of his blade and he turned his head sideways to read it. But his eyes could make no sense of the script that flowed from hilt to tip. As he finally realized the words were from a foreign language, he heard a swish of air and realized the leprechaun had brought his sword to bear. Before he could respond, he felt a pinprick in his belly.

“There! I claim first blood!” The little man put his sword down with a satisfied smile across his face. Liam looked down and saw a small rip in his shirt, the edges stained with red. Pulling aside his shirt with one hand while his sword hand fell to his side, he examined the inch-long scratch in his skin.

“You hurt me!”

“Oh, don’t be a baby. ‘
Tis
just a scratch.
And me
honor
is satisfied. No more insulting Seamus O’Brien, understood?”

Liam nodded, still
marveling
that his belly bled. How had that happened? He glanced at the sword in his hand that he had not even used. Celtic filigree danced along the crosspiece; one of those knot designs that made him dizzy. The hilt was wrapped in dark leather, the blade almost as long as his arm. Yet it was balanced perfectly and felt light in his hand.

“Yes, boy-o.
The blade is for
ye
.
My gift.”

Liam’s eyes narrowed. “Why? What’s the catch?”

“No catch.” Seamus shrugged his shoulders. “Ye bought me slice of tapestry to give to yon Maggie, now didn’t ye?” When Liam nodded, Seamus continued. “Well ye want the shrew for
yer
wife, even if ye don’t know it yet.” The leprechaun held up his hands to stave off Liam’s protest. “Yes, she’s the one
ye’ll
marry, but…” Seamus voice dropped low and, in spite of himself, Liam leaned in to hear him. “But…ye need to tame the shrew in her first.”