“Aye.” Rumpel walked closer, noting the boy’s scrubbed-and-polished appearance, the well-pressed blue shirt and tan shorts. He was a well-cared-for child and clearly much beloved.
“Nah.” He shook his head, riffling fingers through his hair. “Well…” He shrugged and giggled. “I came here a long time ago with my Aunt Betty and Uncle Gerard, but I was born in a place called Miss-ouri.” He stressed the word as if he had to taste it through to pronounce it correctly.
“Earth. Indeed.” He smiled. “Well then, Briley, it is good to meet you. Might I come in?”
“No.” He shook his head swiftly. “And don’t bother trying to come in without permission because Uncle Gerard made a witch cast a spell on this bush so that it would rip someone to smithereens if they tried.” His smile was sweet and innocent and Rumpel’s lips twitched.
The child amused him.
“Briley!” a female’s voice cried out. “Get away from him. What are you doing here?” A raven-haired beauty came trampling down the steps, latching her hands onto the child’s shoulder and dragging him swiftly to her side.
Her eyes were a deep, chocolate brown and were easily seen behind a horrid pair of owl-shaped lenses. She shoved at the sweaty strands of hair clinging to her forehead, tucking it behind her ears. Her body was slim but strong. Tanned calves peeked out from beneath the long hem of her gauzy day dress. She dressed in a rather matronly fashion for one so young, but she’d do in a pinch he supposed.
“Well?” Her nostrils flared as she glared prettily. “You have ten seconds to answer me before I get my husband to toss you square on your ass!”
Hiding his disappointment that she was not Shayera, although clearly the mother, he recovered quickly enough. “Ah, Ms Caron, I take it.” He held out his hand and waited for her to take it.
Instead she glared at it, then back at him. “I know who you are, Rumpelstiltskin,” she said in a tone laced with frost. “Danika told us you might come. Briley…” She looked down at the boy. “Go along inside and play with your cousin.” She patted his cheek with obvious fondness, but the moment the boy skipped away, she was once again the furious mama bear.
“Of course she did.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, I’m not exactly sure what that bug told you…”
“You’d dare to insult my friend and then come here and think I will… what?” she snapped, tossing up her hands. “Just hand you my daughter? You must be touched in the head.”
Finally, the man of the hour came tromping down the steps, obviously alerted by the sounds of his wife’s squawking. Gerard was a thickly built man, much broader than Rumpel himself, but size could be misleading.
Well… depending on what one was referring to, of course.
The infamous lothario—who was now apparently reformed—draped a protective arm across his Chihuahua of a wife and glared black daggers at Rumpel. “Rumpelstiltskin,” he growled with such a strong French accent that Rumpel knew the man was shaken.
Curling his nose with disdain, the Frenchman glared at him. Undeterred, Rumpel glanced between him and his wife. “You know why I’m here. I can either do this outside, or we can speak in private. Your choice.”
Gerard wanted to pretend his indifference, but the slight uptilt to his jaw and the quiver of his pinky finger spoke volumes. He worried about what exactly Rumpel meant to say. What secrets he would spill in front of his dear wife. How pathetically funny. Rumpel would have sworn the first time he’d met Gerard that he’d never see the day the man cared for anything more than his long list of conquests.
Chuckling, Rumpel shook his head. “Oh, my dear woman.” He turned to Betty. “I fear your husband has been greatly remiss in sharing our truths.” Whirling back to Gerard, he smirked. “Have you not, Caron?”
Clenching his lips, Gerard jerked his head toward the house. “Let’s take this inside, demon.”
He was no demon, and yet everyone insisted on calling him that. It’d ceased ruffling his feathers several hundred years ago.
“Yes, let’s,” Rumpel agreed and the thorny rose hedge parted as if by magic—which it obviously was, clearly Briley had not been lying—to allow him safe entrance.
Betty clutched at Gerard’s hand. “What’s going on, honey?”
He shook his head. “Not out here,” he whispered.
“Embarrassed about me, Caron, are you?” He chuckled. “Afraid the world might know you’ve gotten yourself entangled with the devil himself?”
Hissing, Gerard spun on his heel. His broad chest heaved as he glowered at Rumpel. “Do not make me regret inviting you inside. I should rip you limb from limb for daring to intrude upon the sanctity of my—”
“Blah, blah, blah.” Rumpel made the hand motion to indicate someone blathering on, and then with a flourish stepped to the side so that Betty could walk up the steps before him. “After you.”