Tuesday Tales – Spider

This one was a challenge because I hate spiders.  So there won’t be any graphics of my subject because I’d give myself nightmares if I did.  I am jumping back to Thatcher and Miranda starting at the very beginning of their tale…

Miranda wrapped her arms around her knees as she watched the rays of sunlight twinkle off the clear water in the stream.  The large oak tree she sat beneath shaded her from the summer sun.  Hopefully she could sit beside this stream all day.

Miranda glanced back to her village.  The king’s nobles had returned once again to speak to her father.  Their presence terrified her.  Almost viciously they thanked her father for his service to the king but his duty was now over.  They would soon return for the maiden.  Ever since their first visit Miranda’s father would no longer look her in the eye.  He found every excuse to be absent from their cottage.

Miranda wiped the tears that suddenly sprung into her emerald green eyes.  Could it be true?  Could the man who raised her, loved her as his own not be her father?

Miranda lifted her eyes to watch the stream ripple past her.  A scream erupted from her throat as her eyes locked on a spider, its thin spindly legs rappelling down from its silk web.  Miranda scuttled backward colliding against a very solid object.  Her eyes traced from the spider to its web to the stick it was fixed on.  Thatcher met her terrified gaze with a mischievous grin.

“Hello, Miranda,” Thatcher crooned.

Miranda scrambled from beneath Thatcher’s arm holding the spider and rose to her feet.  Thatcher was Miranda’s other heartbreak.  Thatcher had been part of Miranda’s life since she could remember.  His father was a farmer and hers was the town miller.  The two men were business partners and best friends.

As small children Thatcher was as close to Miranda as a brother.  They did everything together.  They spent their days gathering color filled stones in the stream.  They spent the evenings singing songs around the campfire and chasing fireflies.

But as they matured Thatcher became so much more than a brother to Miranda.  He grew from a lanky youth to a tall, sensual man.  His body was chiseled, every muscle rippling and strong.  He kept his black hair cropped short.  His eyes burned in a beautiful sapphire blue.

Yet Miranda was sure Thatcher did not feel the same as Miranda.  Miranda would always be Thatcher’s sister to him.

Thatcher balanced the tiny spider on his arm allowing the creature to climb across the fabric of his tunic.

“Settle, Miranda.  It is just a spider,” Thatcher laughed.

“It was not funny, Thatcher,” Miranda chided.

“Yes it was.”

Miranda took a deep breath.  She felt her heart break to pieces.  “I see the king’s army has made their camp nearby.  Have you gone to talk to the commander?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“They leave in two weeks.  I will leave with them.”

“And your father is all right with this?”

“Yes.  He is proud that I will become a knight of the king’s army.”  Thatcher cocked his head to the side, his mouth still turned in his devilish grin.  “How does my Miranda feel about it?”

“I do not believe I have an opinion, do I?”

“Of course you do.  I value your opinion.”

Miranda bit her lower lip nervously.  “I do not approve.”

“Why not?”

“It was not our plans.”

“What were our plans, Miranda?  I had no plans in this village.”

“Oh,” Miranda squeaked.  She glanced back to the village then to the paths and brush.  Despite the king’s nobles she needed to make an escape back to her cottage.  Soon.

Thatcher gently brushed the spider to the ground then slowly strode to Miranda.  “Miranda, what were your plans of me?” he demanded.

Miranda gazed up to him as her face flushed red.  “That you and I would be…wed,” she whispered.

“Wed?  You and I?”

“Yes.”

Miranda braced herself for his laughter.  In his ears her wishes were probably ridiculous.  She felt the tears of humiliation rush into her eyes again.

Miranda gasped in surprise as Thatcher swept her into his arms.  Her gasp was smothered by his kiss, a deep, soft, delicious kiss.  Miranda wrapped her arms around Thatcher’s neck, clinging to him as his kiss deepened.

As their lips parted, Thatcher’s voice rasped, “Are you certain you wish to be my wife?”

“Yes,” Miranda breathed.

“Then I will go speak to the commander of the army tomorrow.  I will also speak to your father.”

“But your desire to be a knight,” Miranda protested.

Thatcher kissed Miranda again.  “This is my true desire.  I want nothing more than you as my bride, Miranda.  I love you with all my heart.”

Miranda’s heart thundered in her chest at his words.  “I love you also, Thatcher.”

Miranda’s thoughts of the village, her father and the king’s nobles disappeared as she melted against Thatcher’s hard, warm body and lost herself in his kisses.

Don’t forget to check out more incredible romantic stories at Tuesday Tales!