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   Chapter 23 No.23

The WeatherMaker Hearts Desire By Lady Lilium Characters: 5100

Updated: 2018-07-10 12:03


It was many more days later, when Ramana allowed the brothers to visit her and her daughter.

Farrell opened the door to see Brice and Arlen standing there. He invited them into his home, and led them through to one of his large and spacious living rooms. Here Ramana was sitting in one of the chairs, holding her daughter in her arms.

She watched as the three brothers entered the room, their footsteps echoed on the smooth marble floors. Ramana lifted her head as Brice and Arlen approached, Farrell pulled back, watching from a short distance away.

Silently, Ramana lifted the baby towards Brice, who took her gently. Brice stared down at the child, holding her tenderly.

'She looks just like Gracie did' he said, 'shortly after she was born.' He turned to Arlen standing beside him, and held the child out, for Arlen to take.

Arlen hesitated, drawing back slightly.

'Go on' Brice encouraged. 'Take her.'

Arlen stepped forwards, closer to his brother. Farrell watched, as the child was handed from Brice, to Arlen.

Arlen stared down at Amaia, feeling a lump in his throat.

'She's beautiful' he chocked, tears prickling in his eyes and his breath caught in his throat.

He couldn't believe this moment had come. It felt too good to be true, so wonderful, and so strange.

He lifted his gaze to Ramana, and for an instant, their eyes met.

A moment passed between them.

'Here' Arlen whispered as the child became restless. 'I think she wants to be back with her mother.'

Ramana took the baby, leaning back in her chair.

'Her name is Amaia' she said.

'It's a beautiful name' Arlen told her. He opened his mouth to say something else, but hesitated; then he closed his mouth again.

Arlen turned and swiftly left without explanation. Farrell watched him go. His brow furrowed, as he frowned thoughtfully to himself.

Chapter Six

Tree Pirates

Five years later

'Amaia!' Ramana called. 'Amaia where are you?'

'I'm here mother!' the girl called back.

Ramana turned, looking to the balcony above her where her daughter stood, hanging off the balustrade.

'Are you wearing the dress I told you to?' Ramana called.

'Yes mother!'

'Then come down at once, it's about to begin.'

Amaia ran down the stairs, coming to the entrance hall and standing beside her mother.

'Amaia!' came another voice. Amaia hunched her shoulders instantly as her father came marching towards her. 'How many times do I have to tell you not to run up and down the stairs? You'll hurt yourself.'

'Sorry fath

er. I won't do it again.'

'Yes you will' Farrell frowned at her.

Farrell stood beside his wife, who leant towards him with a smile, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. He smirked teasingly back at her, and placed an arm around his wife's shoulders, pulling her close. Their daughter went to stand before them, looking forwards.

'Are we all ready then?' the painter asked them, standing before his paints and easel.

'I think so' Farrell told him. 'Stand still Amaia. This won't take too long.'

It was five minutes later that Amaia began to fidget.

'Amaia' Farrell told her sternly. 'I told you to keep still.'

'But this is boring' Amaia complained loudly.

'Keep still' Farrell hissed.

'Amaia' Ramana cooed kindly to her. 'Precious treasure. Be a good girl and listen to your father.'

Ten minutes later, Amaia opened her mouth.

'I'm hungry.'

'Heaven forbid' Farrell groaned, placing his hand over his eyes. Beside him Ramana was smirking. 'How much longer' he asked the painter.

'I've just done the outlines' the painter answered, leaning around the easel to see Farrell. 'I've still got the colour and the lighting and shading to add yet…it will take a bit longer.'

Amaia made a noise of protest; it wasn't even a word that came out of her mouth, just a long and prolonged moan of anguish that both her parents ignored.

Ramana flattened her dress. The beautiful garment was well fitted and ran across her chest, leaving her shoulders bare, a simple but stunning dress, coloured black and silver. Before her Amaia was dressed in a pretty and modest blue dress, with a large bow at the waist and one in her hair, and beside her, Farrell stood tall and majestic. The dark cloak around his shoulders was lined with blood red fabric on the inside, and at his waist, he carried his sword. One of many he owned that had seen battle.

'Can't I have something to eat?' Amaia complained.

'Be quiet' Farrell snapped.

'Oh look dear' Ramana frowned at her husband. 'Your collar is messy.' She reached around his neck to straighten it; then her hands drew towards Amaia. 'And your bow isn't straight' she said. Then she began to fuss over her daughter's hair.

'Get off me!' Amaia protested. 'Help!'

'Now Amaia be quiet, and keep still, you're making your father angry.'

A short time later, the three of them were settled again, facing the painter who lifted his brush once more to his easel.

A short time later, Amaia broke the silence.

'My feet hurt.'

'Amaia' Farrell warned her sternly.

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