Page 65 of Soulgazer

Faolan had better live long enough for me to find out what he meant by it.

One kiss from her lips…

“My. Don’t you look the wee domestic.”

I nearly drop my needles altogether, a cry lodged in my throat. Faolan is watching me with a faint flush and his old half smile, propped against the pillows where he’d lain supine before. His beard is unkempt, his hair sticking up at odd angles where I brushed a comb through it last night. But he’s talking.

Alive.

“Don’t tell me you’re making yourself another pair of socks, as if the twenty in your luggage weren’t enough.” A tremor wracks his arms as he pushes himself further upright. I want to help—to weep—but it’s like he’s punched me clean of breath with one look.

“Or is it something naughtier? A fake beard to run away with—though yellow’s an odd choice.” Faolan squints at me. Tilts his head. “You could pass for a man with a proper hat and coat, though, I’d wager. Except you’d have to bind your…Are you all right, lass?”

My mouth drops open as all that panic coiled tight inside me unfurls into a wave of rage. I snap my arm up, sending the scarf and needles flying at his head. A hot thrill rushes through me when he yelps as it hits his eye.

“I was making a scarf foryou, you arse! Autumn is coming, the nights will get cool, and—you have no idea what it’s been like!” I shove myself free from the trunk, making for the door, but Faolan catches my wrist as I pass by the bed.

“Wait. I didn’t mean—”

I push his grip free and am nearly to the door when his voice stops me in my tracks.

“I’ve smuggled myself in a dress before. Stuffed the bodice, shaved my jaw, passed as a woman. Twice, actually. And then I kept the skirt because it’s bloody fun to wear.”

The image his words paint is so clear, I find myself twisting to see his face—see if this is the truth or another fabrication. But his eyes are serious as he watches me, cheeks hollow in the early dawn.

“What does that have to do with—?”

“Because I wasn’t insulting you when I said you could pass as a man. It’s a damn clever idea, and dead useful. Believe me.” Faolan looks me over, then stares down at the scarf for a long moment before he clears his throat. “How long was I…”

“Three days this morning.” My back meets the door and I hold myself hard as all that fury shifts inside me like late-winter wind. An ache starts in the back of my throat. I can’t play with him now, or hear another stupid comment about this scarf—not when I’ve spent hours staring at his chest to make sure it moved. “I didn’t know if you’d wake.”

“You?”

I wince. “We. The crew.”

A pause. “I see.”

The bedclothes rustle, the ropes beneath creaking, and I look up only to gasp when I see he’s trying to draw his legs over the side to stand. I lurch forward, pushing him back into place. “Stop that! You’re too weak.”

“Aye,” he grunts, panting beneath my palms. “But if the crew’s out there wringing their hands, I figure it’s best to put them out of their misery.”

My braid hits his collarbone as I shake my head. “I’ll go tell them. You just—”

“Especially since the crew’s worked itself to the bone, keeping me alive—bathing me, as well.” Faolan sniffs the air once and I stop, one knee pressed into the mattress. His mouth twitches, betraying a smile. “Oats and sea aster. Isn’t that a soap you favor?”

I shove myself back from the bed. “You think you’re so clever—”

“I don’t. Not where you’re concerned, anyway.” Faolan takes up the discarded wool from where I left it, nuzzling it once against his cheek. His smirk has already shifted to something softer, a strange look in his eyes as they track me through the room. “Were you really scared for me, Trouble?”

Tears blur my vision as I sag against the door, telling myself to reach for the handle. Leave before he can affect me more. “Don’t.”

“Saoirse—”

“Don’ttease me now. Please, I can’t—”

My voice breaks, and his gaze dips briefly over my body. Snags on the new tattoo at my wrist. Faolan takes a breath and holds it for three long seconds before beckoning to me with one hand. The scarf lies limp in the other. “I’m not teasing, lass. And I’m not dying—at least not anymore. Come over and see for yourself.”

Agony blooms as I take in the sight of the Wolf holding my pitiful scarf. I shake my head.