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“Excellent,” she breathed. She took up her basket. “I shall see you tonight, then, Lord Locryn.”

“Until tonight.” He watched her go, feeling awake again, alive again—and deadly determined not to return to sleep.

* * *

Morcom watched the human below.

He had returned at last. The man Thistle still wished to see.

“Did you hear?” Derowan emerged from the trunk behind him. “Such nice things he said about my tree!” She sighed in pleasure.

“He should stay. Here at Lancarrow.” Morcom looked over. “Thistle should see him.”

“Thistle?” The dryad frowned—then peered downward in surprise. “It’s him? It is, isn’t it? The one Thistle kissed?”

The one Thistle still wished to kiss, if her melancholy behavior was any indication. She hadn’t been the same since this human had left Cornwall. So sad and reclusive. Morcom had tried to cheer her. He’d tried every way he knew, but she’d never truly recovered. Now the human was back—and if his presence would help Thistle, then Morcom would see to it that he stayed.

“He’s looking for a bird,” he told Derowan.

“I’d say he found a ripe chick,” the dryad giggled. “The girl is as interested as he is.”

“I’ll find him a bird. He doesn’t need a girl.”

That man would have Thistle—and she would be happy, at last.

CHAPTER1

Gwyn reattacheda bit of holly to her creation and stepped back to admire it.

“Here’s the apple.” Mrs. Bray entered, bearing the required piece of fruit. “When I was a girl it was always hung inside the circles, from the top. The mistletoe hangs from the bottom.”

Gwyn worked carefully; making sure the inside of her two joined withy circles was as lovely as the outside.

“Is the candle secure?” the housekeeper asked.

“It is.” Gwyn sighed in satisfaction. “Not too bad a job for my first attempt, I think.”

“It’s more artfully put together than any Cornish Bunch I saw in my youth,” Mrs. Bray said with approval. “And I do thank you for allowing the servants to come in and take part, my lady.”

“Of course! All who are interested are welcome. I appreciate all of your guidance, as well—and please send our thanks to Cook.” She waved her hand toward the buffet spread with tiny sandwiches, small cakes and biscuits. “But now, if you would hold this stool steady, then I’ll hang the Bunch and we’ll be all ready.”

She’d just got the thing mounted on the waiting hook when the door swung open. Her sisters came trooping in, bringing with them a few early guests. Tamsyn came in last—and with her both Gryff and Locryn.

Her heart jumped at the sight of him and she swayed a bit. Flinging out her hands for balance, she started to climb down, but he was already there, hand extended.

“I have to assume you are attracted to heights, Lady Gwyn. Every time I see you, you are attempting to climb something.”

“Mainly coincidence, my lord, I assure you.” Although she’d climb a mountain every day if she could descend holding his strong arm and looking down into those smiling blue eyes.

He looked different than he had eight years ago. The geometry of his face had sharpened. He had more angles and a solemn expression behind his eyes. His blonde hair shone in the candlelight and he held himself tighter, it seemed to her, but he was still undeniably handsome. Inescapably appealing.

“You two do know each other, don’t you?” Tamsyn looked between them. “I thought you only met the once, years ago?”

“We met again today when I raided Lancarrow for mistletoe,” Gwyn explained. “Our own gardeners rooted it out everywhere, but Lord Locryn climbed a great oak and fetched enough for our Cornish Bunch.”

She smiled her thanks at him. He returned the look with a slow smile that she felt right down to her toes.

So long she’d held his memory close. When she’d talked with her sisters of searching for a husband during this wedding house party, it was his face she’d imagined as her groom. To find that long ago attraction still alive was half the battle.