The Pillars of the World

Chapter Eight

Ari winced as heavy thunder rolled over the cottage and the first fat drops of rain hit the windows. Hurrying into her bedroom, she finished latching the inside shutters and drawing the winter drapes across them. Normally she enjoyed watching a storm roll in from the sea, but this one seemed ominous, somehow.

“You’re getting daft, Ari,” she muttered as she stripped off her clothes and pulled on her heaviest nightgown. “First you talk to horses, and now you think storms have moods.”

But storms did have moods, and this one made her uneasy.

A gust of wind struck the cottage hard enough to make the windows rattle.

Ari froze for a moment, then shook her head. Only a fool would ride out on a night like this.

She put on clean socks, stuffed her feet into slippers, then put the snug on over her nightgown. Running her hand down the heavy wool, she smiled sadly.

The snug was her mother’s idea. Tired of shawls that never seemed to stay put, Meredith had taken one of her shawls and sewed up the sides to make loose sleeves. Ari had woven fasteners that could keep it closed with a button. The result was a cross between a shawl and a coat that Meredith, laughing when she tried on the result of their efforts, had said would keep them warm and snug even in the stiffest breeze.

Another gust of wind had Ari moving into the cottage’s main room. She stood in front of the hearth, breathing steadily as she focused on the wood. The power of fire swelled inside her, making her right hand tingle a little. She banked that power, gently. Raising her hand, she fed the rest of it into the wood. A bit of smoke rose from the kindling. Then a tiny flame flickered, caught more kindling, and grew stronger. She continued to feed that tiny fire until the last log began to burn easily.

Moving into the kitchen, she sniffed the aroma of rabbit stew and pressed her hand against her growling stomach. She started to smile, but it faded when she looked at the kitchen door with its shiny new bolts and locks.

How had old Ahern known that her kitchen door had been broken last night? Surely he hadn’t come around last night because it was the Summer Moon? Surely not. He’d never looked at her that way. But in his own gruff way, he’d always been kind.

He’d said he’d come looking for the gray stallion, and she knew that one came around in the evenings from time to time to graze in the meadow—had been doing so for as long as she could remember.

But Ahern had never come looking for the gray horse before. In fact, one time when she’d asked him if the horse had strayed, there had been a twinkle in his eyes, shadowed by sadness, when he told her that the gray had strayed a bit too far in its younger years but that time was long past, and that she needn’t worry about the horse. Then he’d given her a searching look and asked if it troubled her to have the gray around. It didn’t trouble her, and she’d told him so. So why had Ahern come looking for the gray last night?

“Don’t borrow trouble,” Ari told herself firmly, dishing out a bowl of stew. “He was here for the reason he said he was, and because he was, he noticed the door and came back this morning to fix it. If you keep thinking this way, you’ll end up with the headache as well as a stomachache.” She cut two slices of sharp cheese from the wheel, then cut a thick slice of bread from the loaf she’d baked that morning. As an indulgence, she spread what she considered to be an extravagant amount of butter over the bread.

Bringing her dishes to the table in the main room, she lit a couple of candles. Satisfied with the look of things, she hurried back to the kitchen, took the stew pot off the stove, put the teakettle on, then filled a glass with water to have with her meal.

Returning to the table, she gave thanks to the Mother for her bounty, then bit into the bread and almost groaned with pleasure. As she chewed slowly, she looked around the room.

After dinner, she could bring the small loom in from the workroom and sit by the fire and weave for a little while. Or she could sit in the rocking chair that someone had given her grandmother so many years ago and just dream by the fire. Or she could snuggle into bed and get the sleep she needed to deal with whatever tomorrow would bring.

Like whatever damage the storm may do to the young lettuce and the seedlings you planted in the past couple of days. Or having the root cellar flood because you still haven’t gotten the spell for keeping out water quite right.

Ari shook her head and picked up her spoon. Borrowing trouble again. She’d never thought about those kinds of spells when her mother was alive because Meredith’s strength had been water. When she’d commanded, water had obeyed. But water spells didn’t work for a witch whose strengths were earth and fire, so Ari had had to learn earth-based spells to keep water out of places it wasn’t supposed to be. Or, more truthfully, was still working on finding the right spell since her efforts so far had achieved limited success. Of course, even her mother might have been challenged by a storm like this.

A careful nibble confirmed that the stew was cool enough to eat. She dug her spoon into the bowl and was about to take a mouthful when someone knocked on the door.

The spoon slipped out of her fingers. She stared at the door, her heart pounding.

Mother’s mercy! Royce!

Another knock, more impatient this time.

With effort, she regained enough self-control to think instead of panic. Even if it was Royce, the warding spells would keep him out unless she welcomed him in. And she had no intention of letting him cross her threshold. But what if it was Ahern, coming to ask for a simple because one of his men was sick?

“You won’t know by just standing here,” Ari muttered, moving toward the door.

A third knock made her freeze, her eyes fixed on the latch. The fact that whoever it was hadn’t tried to force his way in gave her courage to open the door.

It wasn’t Royce, and it wasn’t Ahern. It was a well-dressed, thoroughly wet stranger who was hunched under the roof as far as he could get.

“Good evening,” Ari said.

Thunder rolled. Lightning flashed. The stranger glared balefully at the sky, then gave her a small, woeful smile. “Is it?”

Something about him made Ari hesitate. Despite the rain and the chill wind, seeing him made the cottage feel a bit too warm.

Well, you can’t leave him standing there. And he’s obviously gentry, so suggesting he bed down in the cow shed wouldn’t be something he’d forgive.

“Come in and be welcome,” Ari said, using the phrase that quieted the warding spells. She stepped back to give him room to enter.

He hesitated on the threshold, and she wondered if he could feel the warding spells draw back like a curtain that would close again the moment he stepped into the room. Then he entered the room, moving to one side so that Ari could close the door.

“I’m . . . grateful . . . for the shelter, mistress,” he said, pushing his black hair away from his face. “It’s a hard night.”

She could tell gratitude wasn’t a common feeling for him. Not surprising. It wasn’t a common emotion for any of the gentry as far as she could tell. At least he had manners enough to say the word, which was more than anyone in Ridgeley would have said.

Noticing the saddlebags he carried in one hand, she said, “What about your horse?”

Surprise—and a hint of amusement—filled his gray eyes. “My horse?”

“Did you put it in the cow shed?” Ari bit her lower lip worriedly. “There’s straw for bedding, but I don’t keep hay or any feed.”

“The horse is fine where he is,” the man said, something a little odd in his voice.

Ari nodded. The man seemed filled with a waiting tension she didn’t understand. His quick glance at the table was explanation enough.

He’s hungry. The thought made her shiver. Suddenly, she didn’t want to be in the same room with him—at least for a few minutes. Which brought to mind other problems.

“You should get out of those wet clothes,” she said, then pressed her lips tightly shut. She had nothing to offer him, and she didn’t think it would be wise to have a man sitting around wearing nothing but a blanket and his small clothes—assuming those weren’t wet, too.

“I have a change of clothes,” he said, raising the saddlebags slightly. He looked at her expectantly.

There wasn’t much choice. Squaring her shoulders, she gestured toward the half-open door of her bedroom. “You can change in there.”

Inclining his head slightly, he went into the bedroom and closed the door.

Pressing her hands against her nervous stomach, Ari glanced down. She groaned quietly, then shrugged in resignation. The ankle-length nightgown was heavy enough to cover her, and the shrug came down to her thighs. There was nothing immodest about her dress, and if a gentry male assumed that barging in on a woman dressed for bed was the same as an invitation, then he could just go back out into the rain and be welcome to it.

Grabbing her dish of stew, she hurried into the kitchen. Moving the teakettle to the back of the stove, she put the stew pot back on the heat, dumped the contents of her bowl into it, and gave it a stir. She sliced more bread and buttered it, cut more cheese from the wheel. Then she braced her hands against the worktable and closed her eyes.

Where was she supposed to put him tonight? The upstairs rooms hadn’t been cleaned since last summer. Not even a quick dust and sweep. She didn’t use those rooms, and there were always too many other chores that needed to be done. Even if she made up one of the beds, a fire would be needed to take the chill out of the room, and she didn’t have enough firewood chopped to feed another fire until morning. So she’d have to give him her bed and make up a pallet of blankets by the fire in the main room for herself.

Dishing out two generous bowls of stew made her hesitate again. She hoped he wasn’t too hungry. She’d counted on that stew providing her with meals for a few days, and the coppers she’d gotten from Granny Gwynn for the simples wouldn’t go very far if she had to buy supplies in Ridgeley. She eyed the sweet bread sitting on the worktable, carefully wrapped in a towel. She’d made it as a “thank you” to Ahern for fixing her door, but maybe she could also get a few eggs in exchange for it?

She shook her head as she ferried dishes from the kitchen to the table.

Whatever you do comes back to you threefold. That was part of the witch’s creed. Bounty was given, bounty was received, and the Mother was the most bountiful giver of all.

She would give the food and shelter she could give tonight with an easy heart, and let tomorrow take care of itself.

She was putting the dishes of stew on the table when he came out of the bedroom, dressed in nothing more than dark trousers and a white shirt. He carried a bottle in one hand and a small sack in the other.

“I can offer a little something for the table,” he said, handing her the sack.

Setting the sack on the table, she took out a small, covered pot and a woven box. Opening both, she studied the contents for a long moment before deciding that they must be some kind of biscuits and a creamed cheese.

When she looked up to thank him, she noticed the way he frowned at what he’d brought, as if he’d just realized that it was the kind of thing someone might pack if he was taking a leisurely afternoon ride . . . or if he knew he didn’t have to travel far. He could have bought it at an inn where he’d stopped for a midday meal . . . but she didn’t think so. Which made her wonder exactly where he had come from. He could be one of the gentry from another part of Sylvalan who came to Ahern’s to look at the horses he was willing to sell. But Ahern’s farm wasn’t that far from her cottage, so why hadn’t he gone back there?

“Shall I open the wine?” he asked, watching her with a touch of wariness.

Nodding, Ari retreated to the kitchen to find some glasses.

Anyone crossing the road and climbing the first rise beyond it would be able to see Ahern’s place. And anyone caught in a storm could reach it easily enough. Unless he’d lost his direction in the dark and the storm, or was just looking for shelter until the storm passed and he could return to the farm. Or continue on to Ridgeley. Perhaps he was one of Baron Felston’s guests—or a friend of Royce’s.

Ari shivered.

She knew quite well what the people in Ridgeley would say if they found out a strange man had stayed the night. As far as they were concerned, witch was just another word for whore. If the stranger mentioned where he’d spent the night, she could well imagine men in Ridgeley, married or not, who would come knocking on the door expecting the same kind of “hospitality.”

After rummaging in the cupboard for a bit, she found the two remaining crystal wineglasses that had belonged to her great-grandmother. The last time they’d been used was when she and her mother had sat before the fire, drinking a bottle of wine Ahern had given them as a gift for the Winter Solstice. Meredith had died not long after that.

Ari wiped the dust off the wineglasses and returned to the main room.

The wine was on the table, open. He was standing next to one of the chairs.

“I ask your pardon, mistress,” he said, sounding as if he’d been mentally rehearsing the phrasing. “I should have introduced myself sooner. I am . . . Lucian.”

A tremor went through her at the sound of his name, and she knew how a trout must feel when it fights the hook but gets reeled in anyway.

“I am Ari,” she said reluctantly. Names had power, and she hadn’t wanted to give him hers, but his offering his own hadn’t given her much choice.

Fool, she thought as she set the glasses down and took her place at the table. He doesn’t know you. You could have given him any name but your own. For that matter, how can you be sure that he didn’t do exactly that?

Now that she thought of it, there had been a moment’s hesitation before he’d given his name—as if it wasn’t the way he usually introduced himself.

She glanced at him. His fingers rested lightly on the spoon, and he looked at her expectantly. It took her a moment to realize he was waiting for her to begin so that he could eat. Suppressing a sigh, Ari picked up her spoon. More gentry manners she didn’t know about. Although . . . old Ahern wasn’t gentry, and the few times she’d had so much as a cup of tea with him, he’d waited in the same way.

The stew was too hot for her, so she broke off a piece of cheese to nibble. As soon as she bit into the cheese, he dug into his meal. There wasn’t time to warn him that the stew was hot before he had his mouth full. His eyes widened in surprise, but he didn’t grab the wine to cool off his burning mouth. He chewed, swallowed, and smiled at her. “This is delicious.” It was the only thing he said for several minutes.

He wolfed down half the bowl of stew, most of the cheese, and a couple slices of buttered bread before she took her first spoonful of stew.

She bit into a piece of potato, then sucked in little puffs of air to cool off the hot center of it. She thought she was being fairly quiet about it, but he lifted his head instantly to observe her. When she managed to swallow, she said, “How did you eat that without burning yourself?”

“I like fire,” he said.

Grabbing her glass, she took a large swallow of wine, then looked at the glass to make sure she hadn’t mistakenly grabbed the glass of water. “I like fire, too, but I’m not fond of burning my tongue.”

“But that is the nature of fire. It burns.”

“It warms,” she replied sharply. She hadn’t intended to sound challenging, but something about the way he’d said “it burns” chilled her.

“You don’t think fire can destroy?” he asked softly.

She could tell by the way his fingers curled around his wineglass that he wasn’t used to being contradicted and certainly didn’t like it. Still, she took her time answering. Fire was a branch of the Mother that was a part of her. She knew its nature, its dark side and its light. But how to explain to a stranger something she’d never needed to put into words before?

“Yes, fire can destroy,” she said carefully, “but it’s also the heat that bakes the bread, the comfort that warms a cold winter’s night, the light that guides you home in the dark.” She fiddled with her spoon. “That must sound very simple to you.”

“It sounds . . . gentler,” Lucian replied, looking away. “And far more thoughtful than my own remark.” Sipping the wine, he frowned. “My apologies, mistress. The wine doesn’t do justice to the meal.”

“It has a delicate flavor,” Ari said. In truth, despite the deep-red color of the wine, it was almost tasteless, as if it contained nothing more than a memory of flavor. Spreading a bit of creamed cheese on a biscuit, she took a bite and tried not to sigh. The cheese and biscuits weren’t any better than the wine. She hadn’t known gentry preferred food that tasted so . . . pale.

They finished the meal in a silence thickened by tension.

Ari looked at her half-full bowl of stew and gave up. Her appetite had fled, her stomach too full of the growing conviction that her guest was waiting for something.

“What was your destination, Lord?” she asked, hoping it was a sufficient distance so that he would want to retire soon in order to get an early start in the morning.

“Nowhere in particular,” he replied evasively, his eyes fixed on the wineglass his fingers restlessly turned.

Ari stared at him. If he wasn’t going somewhere, what had he been doing out on a night like this?

“Did you enjoy your ride on the beach last night?” he asked abruptly, still not looking at her.

Ari’s body went hot and cold at the same time, making her feel sick . . . and furious. “If that’s what you came for, my Lord, you’re too late. The Summer Moon was last night.”

“I know,” he said quietly, his gray eyes pinning her to her chair. “You didn’t answer the question.”

“Nor will I,” Ari snapped. “It’s none of your business.” She was so vexed she looked around for something to throw, but she couldn’t afford to waste food or crockery. “I thought I had seen someone watching from the cliff.”

“Was there?” The sharpness in his voice made her look at him.

“Yes. You. How else could you know?”

Lucian’s voice softened. “I was on the beach.”

Ari shook her head. “There was no one on the beach except the—”

“You gave me apples and some kind of cake—and a fancy.”

Ari kept shaking her head.

“You kissed me, and made a promise.”

“I didn’t,” she whispered. As she stared at him, his face changed abruptly, taking on a feral quality, and his ears grew slightly pointed.

Fae.

She leaped away from the table, knocking over her chair. He just sat there, watching her with that blend of wariness and hunger in his gray eyes.

“Y-you’re Fae.” Her voice shook.

He inclined his head slightly.

“But . . . you said you were a horse. I asked you, and you said you were a horse.”

A hint of amusement joined the wariness and hunger in his eyes. “When you asked me, I was a horse.”

Ari closed her eyes. Mother’s mercy. She’d given the fancy to a Fae Lord in his other form. Well, maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. After all, she had avoided any of the men from Ridgeley. And maybe he was a minor lord, like the Lord of Poultry or something. Was there a Lord of Poultry? If that was the case, shouldn’t his other form be a cock? A rooster, Ari amended quickly as an image of a penis with legs running around the barnyard popped into her head. She clamped one hand over her mouth to keep from giggling, certain that if she started she would end up in hysterics.

She took a couple of deep breaths to steady herself, laced her fingers tightly together, then opened her eyes. “Which one are you?”

He studied her for a long moment. “The Lightbringer.”

She fled into the kitchen. Leaning over the sink, she felt grateful she hadn’t eaten much since there would be less to clean up if she got sick.

Fire burns.

Oh, that one would certainly know about fire. Yes, he would.

The Lord of the Sun. The Lord of Fire.

Mother of us all, please help me.

She heard wine being poured into a glass, then the soft scrape of a chair being pushed back. She tensed, waiting for him to come into the kitchen and make his demands. Instead, she heard the rhythmic creak of her grandmother’s rocking chair.

Gathering her courage, Ari crept out of the kitchen. The table had to be cleared and the remaining food properly stored. Besides, those chores were safe and familiar. She glanced in his direction, but he was staring at the fire in the hearth and didn’t seem to notice that she was in the room. Collecting as much as she could, she carried dishes back into the kitchen. On her second trip, he said softly, “I didn’t come here to harm you.”

She looked at him, puzzled by the strain in his voice. Not trusting her own voice, she just nodded and returned to the kitchen. Setting the dishes on the work-table near the sink, she clasped her shaking hands together.

Whatever you do comes back to you . . .

Be careful what you wish for . . .

As I will it. . .

Could she, in part, be responsible for this? She hadn’t wanted to give herself to a man from Ridgeley, especially Royce. She hadn’t cast a spell to avoid that, but her thoughts and feelings had been focused on avoiding it. Could that have been enough to have drawn him to the beach last night? Having magic himself, he would be more sensitive to its call, wouldn’t he? Besides, she had made a solemn promise, and, because of who he was, when she had sworn by the Lord of the Sun and the Lady of the Moon to honor that promise, that vow had even more weight than it might have.

And he seemed so . . . alone.

That thought startled her enough to make her take care of the mundane chores around the kitchen. As she cleaned up and put the food away, she felt steadier and able to think more clearly.

He could have changed form after she gave him the fancy and demanded satisfaction last night. But he didn’t. He could have told her who he was and why he had come as soon as he crossed the threshold. But he didn’t. He had given her a name that wouldn’t frighten her, and he had given her time to talk with him and get used to his presence before he’d mentioned the beach and the fancy.

All of those things had weight. And there was one other thing: Her only experience with a man had been painful and disappointing. How different might it be with someone like Lucian? If she didn’t take the chance now, would another chance ever come? Even if it was no better than it had been with Royce, could it be any worse?

And he’s alone. I don’t know why that’s so, but he is alone. Like me.

When there was nothing left to do in the kitchen, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Have courage, Ari, and trust the Mother’s wisdom. Sometimes things are meant to be.

She approached the hearth slowly, then stood there, uncertain, until he finally looked at her.

“There’s something you need to understand, Lord,” she said, feeling her face heat. “I’ve only done this once.”

“Done what? Offered a fancy?”

“No,” she said hurriedly. “I’ve never done that before. I meant the other part.”

He looked puzzled for a moment, then his expression cleared. “Once?”

She swallowed hard and nodded.

He studied her. “And it wasn’t pleasant.”

She shook her head.

He drained his glass and set it beside the rocker. “It has to be your choice, Ari.”

“I made my choice when I offered the fancy.”

“You didn’t know who you were offering it to.”

“I keep my promises, Lord.” A witch does.

He stood up, approached her slowly. His hands framed her face. “Be sure.”

“I’m sure, Lord.”

He brushed his lips against hers. “Lucian,” he murmured.

“Lucian,” she said obediently.

She braced for a hard kiss and an invading tongue, but his mouth and hands remained gentle, producing a fluttering sensation inside her, as if she were being brushed by delicate wings. Soft. So soft.

His hands left her face and traveled down her back lightly enough she could barely feel them through the nightgown and snug.

His lips explored her face and throat. His hands slipped under the snug. More sensation, but the nightgown still made his touch elusive enough to make her crave more. She wanted to raise her arms and explore his body, but they were too heavy to lift, and she couldn’t seem to focus on anything except the journey his hands were taking over her body.

She was like wax being softened by a quiet flame.

“Come,” he said quietly, leading her into the bedroom. As they reached the door, the candle by the bed began to burn.

Lucian pulled back the bedcovers, then removed her shrug. Unable to resist the light pressure of his hands on her shoulders, she sat on the bed while he removed her slippers and socks.

“Get under the covers,” he said. “It’s cold tonight.”

Shivering a little, she obeyed. Before she was completely settled, he had shed his clothes and was stretching out beside her.

His hands circled her wrists, bringing them up beside her head.

He was warm. So wonderfully warm.

“Shouldn’t I—”

He brushed his lips against hers, silencing her. “Shh.”

Wherever he touched, she melted. By the time he coaxed her to remove her nightgown, she couldn’t raise herself up without his help.

Warm. So warm.

“Ari.”

It was so hard to open her eyes. Her body was answering his commands far better than it was answering hers.

“Ari.”

When she finally opened her eyes, his face was above hers. He studied her for a moment, then smiled. She felt him shift, felt the pressure of his legs opening hers. He filled her slowly, then seemed content to remain still while he kissed her.

It was his balls that finally changed the melting feeling into something sharper and hungry. They rested against her, brushing sensitive skin every time his muscles flexed. The weight of them where nothing had touched her before made her squirm.

“Lucian,” she moaned, trying to find some way to ease that soft torment. Her fingers clamped on his buttocks, urging him to move. “Lucian.”

His lips curved in a smile against her cheek. Then he moved, and with every stroke, he fed passion’s fire until she burned.

Lucian eased himself out of Ari’s bed. As quietly as he could, he pushed back the drapes and opened the shutters. The gray light that would soon yield to sunrise was enough to see by, so he dressed in the clothes he could find, then slipped out of the bedroom.

Drawing back the bolts, he opened the front door. The storm had long passed. Had, in fact, barely lasted through the meal, but he doubted Ari had realized that.

Where had she put the rest of his clothes? he wondered as he closed the door and moved to the back of the cottage. He studied the clean kitchen. And where had she put the rest of the food?

When a quick rummage through various cupboards didn’t yield a pot of hot tea, bowls of stew, or cheese, he opened the large wooden box sitting on the work-table and found the bread as well as the biscuits he had brought. He took a biscuit and bit into it, then made a face. For some reason, they didn’t taste as good here as they did in Tir Alainn. He rummaged a bit more in the box, hoping he’d find something more than was apparently there. Like some of those cakes Ari had brought to the beach.

He could wake her. She would want tea if she was awake, wouldn’t she? And if she was awake, she wouldn’t mind fixing something for him to eat.

He was standing outside the bedroom door when it occurred to him that he still had the custom of gifting to deal with. A satisfied lover may want something very different from a sleepy, disgruntled woman who was expected to cook breakfast. It would be wiser to settle the gift before mentioning food.

He suspected the rules regarding the fancy gave him every right to ignore the custom of gifting, but he had enjoyed Ari far more than he’d expected to, and a gift would make her more eager for his return. Because he was going to return. She was his from the full moon to the dark, and he intended to enjoy her while he could.

And he wanted breakfast.

Entering the bedroom, he sat on the bed. She still slept, snuggled under the covers. He reached out to touch her shoulder and give her a little shake into wakefulness, but his hand kept going until it could stroke her hair.

“Mmmmff,” she said sleepily. “Did the birds tell you it was time?”

Time for what? “The birds?”

Her nods pressed her face deeper into the pillows, and he wondered if she’d slip back into a deep sleep before he could talk to her.

“Birds always know when it’s time,” Ari said after a minute of silence. “As soon as the light begins to change, you can hear the soft chirps, as if they’re encouraging the sun to rise.” With a sigh, she snuggled deeper under the covers. “Or maybe they’re encouraging you.”

“I don’t need help from the birds in order to rise,” Lucian said dryly. There was too much temptation to get back into bed and show her another kind of sunrise. But what she was saying bothered him. Surely she didn’t think . . . “You do know that I don’t really lift the sun above the horizon, don’t you? It can do that just fine by itself.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Ari mumbled. “I’d always wondered what would happen if you overslept. But the birds would wake you.”

Lucian studied her for a moment, then shook his head. Either she was too sleepy or he was too awake for this conversation to make sense.

“Ari?”

“Mmmmff.”

“It is the custom that when a man enjoys a woman’s company, he gives her a gift to show his appreciation.”

“Gift?” She frowned for a moment, then smiled. “A present?”

“Yes,” Lucian said, his patience strained. “A present.”

Ari sighed. “No one’s given me a present since my mother died.”

Lucian sat back, no longer sure what to do. He’d intended to suggest a couple of things from the Clan’s large trinket box, things that would require no effort for him to provide. He hadn’t found human women tempting enough to often yield to their enchantments, but from what other Fae males had said, those women were a bit like crows—they liked shiny objects. Since the gold, silver, and jewelry usually found its way back to a Clan trinket box, even if it wasn’t the same trinket box, there was nothing there that hadn’t been given before.

He’d known there was no one else in the cottage last night, but he’d assumed they were simply somewhere else for the day. There was so much presence in this place that it hadn’t occurred to him that she was truly alone here. Knowing that, and knowing how much a gift now would disappoint or delight, he had an obligation to give her what she asked for, no matter how greedy the request might be.

Leaning closer, he said, “What kind of present would you like?”

“I get to choose?”

“Yes, you get to choose.”

She smiled. “Sunshine.”

He stared at her. Was that a coy way of asking for a necklace of amber or citrine? Or gold? “Sunshine.”

She nodded. “I have to work in the garden today. Sunshine would be nice.” She frowned. “But not too hot.”

He brushed his lips against her cheek. “Sun that warms but doesn’t burn.” When she nodded again, he said, “What else?”

“More?” After a long pause, she said, “A dragon.”

Lucian sighed quietly. A dragon? Even if such a creature existed and he could capture one, what did she think she could do with it? “A dragon,” he said heavily.

She giggled. “A cloud dragon chasing fluffy cloud sheep.”

For the first time, he wondered how old she was. It had been obvious that she was young, but it was a woman’s body that he had enjoyed last night, not a girl’s. No matter. Since he hadn’t been the first, she was surely old enough.

He kissed her cheek again. “I have to go now, but I’ll be back tonight.”

“Tonight,” she mumbled.

Moving quietly, he left the bedroom. The saddlebags were on one of the dining chairs, but he still didn’t know where she had put the rest of his clothes—or his boots. He shrugged. He didn’t need them right now, and he’d be back tonight.

It was a man who opened the kitchen door and stepped out of the cottage. But it was a black horse that galloped toward the shining road that led to Tir Alainn.

Che-cheep che-cheep che-cheep.

The birds were celebrating the day with enthusiasm.

Too much enthusiasm, Ari thought as she turtled under the covers to avoid the light streaming in from her bedroom window.

Light?

She poked her head back out and reluctantly opened her eyes. The drapes were drawn back and the shutters were open. Two sparrows and a finch stared at her from the other side of the glass.

Che-cheep che-cheep che-cheep.

Wake up, wake up, wake up and greet the day.

“All right, all right. I’m up,” Ari grumbled, making no further effort to greet the day. It was past time to get up, but once she started the tasks of the day, last night would become last night, and she wanted to savor those feelings a little while longer and think about the delightful dream she’d had early this morning. Lucian had offered to give her a present, and she’d named a silly thing that only a Fae Lord could give.

It was all nonsense of course, just a bit of fun her mind had conjured to amuse itself while her body still slept. Because if he really had offered her a gift in exchange for sex, that would no longer make last night a joining of two people for their mutual pleasure; that would be like being bought.

Not liking where those thoughts were going, Ari rolled out of bed. After stuffing her feet into slippers, she shuffled into the main room. As she opened the drapes and shutters, the sparrows and finch followed her from window to window.

Che-cheep che-cheep che-cheep.

“Shouldn’t you be out catching worms or some other crawly thing?” Ari asked.

Che-cheep.

“Well, just stay away from my lettuce. There are plenty of other things for you to eat without eating my greens.”

Che-cheep!

Smiling, Ari shook her head, then turned to study the hearth. The fire had burned out. No matter. She could tell that the slight chill in the cottage was left over from last night and would be gone once she opened a few of the windows and the top half of the kitchen door.

As she started toward the kitchen, she saw the saddlebags still sitting on the chair where she’d left them.

She knew Lucian was gone. She would have felt his presence if he was still nearby. So why had he left the saddlebags? What had he packed his extra clothing in?

Fully awake now, she hurried down the narrow hallway off the kitchen that led to the pantry and the washroom.

She’d collected the wet clothes and hung them up when she’d gotten up to use the chamber pot. His clothes were hanging in the washroom exactly as she’d left them.

A little troubled, she opened the room’s small window to freshen the air, then went back to the kitchen to heat water for her morning tea.

The hand pump felt a bit stiff and sounded squeaky as she pumped the water to fill the kettle. Probably needed to be greased. She couldn’t remember the last time it had been done. Ari sighed. Just one more thing to struggle with and fill the day. Just one more thing her mother or grandmother had taken care of when there had been the three of them to share the work.

But she couldn’t remember either of them doing that task, so they must have asked someone. Who would a family of witches ask? Certainly no one in Ridgeley. Ahern? But he’d already fixed the door. She couldn’t ask him for more help without being able to give something in return. Neall? He was usually willing to help with small things when Baron Felston wasn’t filling his days with so many chores he barely had time to breathe. But Neall. . . There were reasons why she was reluctant to ask Neall.

After adding some wood to the coals, Ari put the kettle on the stove to heat. Opening a cupboard, she took down a cup. Her hand hovered in front of the jars beside the cups before she chose the one that contained the special blend of herbs.

She could accurately gauge her fertile days by subtle changes in her body. The day before the Summer Moon should have been the last of them, but there was no reason to take chances. Drinking a cup of tea made from these herbs for another couple of days was a sensible precaution—a precaution she’d been taking every month since her mother died. It wasn’t fear that some man might force himself on her that made her diligent about drinking the tea, although the way Royce and some of his friends had been looking at her lately made her uneasy. It was herself she feared, that she might yield to loneliness or her body’s own romantic yearnings on a day when the consequences might be more costly than a few minutes of pleasure.

There were times when she thought it would be wonderful to have a daughter to love and share the world with. There were more days, especially lately, when she was glad it was unlikely that she would ever carry a child. Her daughter would be as much of an outsider in Ridgeley as she was and would be just as unwelcome. The joy of caring for Brightwood couldn’t mask loneliness, and there were times when even the joy felt like a burden. This land was her heritage and her duty, but someone besides the daughter-who-never-would-be would have to take up the mantle once she was gone.

So it was sensible to drink the herb tea for a couple more days to ensure as much as possible that she wouldn’t conceive.

But . . . Perhaps Lucian would like a child?

Shaking her head, Ari made her tea. Leaving it on the worktable to steep, she took a pitcher of water and the kettle into the washroom, filled the basin, and took a quick sponge bath.

A child was a dangerous thought because it was appealing. But not appealing enough. Oh, Lucian had been a splendid lover and had proved beyond her hopes that not all men were like Royce. Just the thought of what his hands and mouth had done to her made her feel fluttery inside. But that didn’t mean he would welcome a child that had been created with a witch. Besides, he would be gone by the dark of the moon—or even sooner, since her courses might start before then.

“And for all you know, he could already have a wife and children,” Ari muttered as she returned to the kitchen to drink her tea. Married men weren’t supposed to accept an invitation made during the Summer Moon, but plenty of them did. Why should the Fae be any different?

“Because you don’t want him to be so . . . common, so much like Royce or Baron Felston or any of the other gentry in Ridgeley. You want his heart to hold the leash on his loins.” Ari cut a slice of bread and spread jam over it. “Even if he does have a wife, accepting the fancy and coming here last night was his choice.” But it would be a bitter discovery if she found out he had a wife he should have been loyal to.

Neall certainly wouldn’t approve of her welcoming a married man into her bed, whether the Fae lived by a different moral code or not.

Sighing, Ari drank her tea. Leaving the bread on the worktable, she went to her bedroom to get dressed.

In some ways, Neall was as much of an outsider in Ridgeley as she was. Maybe that’s why, as children, they had become friends. Were still friends, even though she didn’t see much of him anymore. He seemed more . . . cautious . . . about being around her now.

“Which is neither here nor there,” Ari told herself firmly. “He doesn’t have any right to tell you what to do with your life or whose company you can or can’t enjoy.”

Since the words didn’t sound indifferent when spoken out loud, Ari clamped her teeth together. She could deny it as much as she liked, but what Neall thought did matter. Just as what Ahern thought mattered. Maybe because they were the only people left who cared about her at all.

Well, neither of them was likely to find out that she had a Fae lover for the next few days, so she was just chewing worries into her day, as her grandmother used to say.

After pulling on her oldest trousers and tunic, Ari swiftly braided her hair. There was no point in dressing in better clothes when she was going to be working all day. The only person who would see her was Ahern, and the only thing he would notice was the sweet bread she was bringing. So she’d take a quick walk over to his farm, then spend the day working in the garden.

And she would not—would not—let herself diminish the satisfaction she felt when she worked with the land because she was brooding about men. She just wouldn’t think about them. She wouldn’t think about Neall or Ahern. And, most of all, she wouldn’t think about the Lightbringer—or wonder if he was coming back tonight.