Page 7

I woke before dawn, my mind immediately turning to the events of the previous day. The memory of Heath's warm eyes, his gentle hands, the impossible kindness he had shown me. It all felt like a dream in the grey morning light. But the faint ache in my head reminded me it had been very real.

I dressed quietly, not wanting to wake the other girls, and reached under my bed where I kept my few personal belongings.

I pulled a slim, light blue book from the depths of my valise.

Tennyson's collected works, my father's favorite book.

I had carried it with me from London, though I had not opened it since arriving at the farm.

Now, as I held the worn leather binding, I thought of Heath's cottage. The books on his shelf, the careful way he had spoken, the intelligence in his gaze. He was clearly educated, someone who would appreciate literature. And after his kindness to me...

Before I could second-guess myself, I tucked the book into my canvas bag alongside my lunch. Whatever Heath was, he had saved my life and asked nothing in return. The least I could do was share something meaningful with him.

The morning was crisp and clear as I made my way across the farm. I crossed the footbridge over Blackwater Stream, noting how peacefully it flowed now. In the field, I resumed my work clearing stones, but my attention kept drifting to the forest edge.

Was he there? Watching? The thought should have unsettled me, but instead, I found it oddly comforting.

As the morning continued, that familiar sensation returned. The feeling of being quietly observed. But today it felt different. Less like being watched and more like... companionship.

I worked steadily until the sun was directly overhead. Then I set down my tools and walked to the stone wall that marked the field's boundary. The forest was full of shadows even at midday.

"I know you're there," I said softly, settling onto the wall with my back to the trees. "I brought my lunch. And something for you."

Silence answered me, but it felt like a listening silence. I unwrapped my bread and cheese, eating slowly while I waited. The minutes stretched, and I began to wonder if I had imagined his presence after all.

Then I heard the soft crunch of leaves underfoot, the careful tread of someone moving through the underbrush.

"Alice."

His deep voice sent an unexpected shiver down my spine. I set down my half-eaten lunch and slowly turned.

Heath stood at the forest edge, partially concealed by the massive trunk of an oak.

In daylight, he looked even more imposing than he had in the dim cottage.

He was two feet taller than me and over twice as wide.

His long, muscular legs ended in large black hooves and his coarse black hair gleamed in the dappled sunlight.

But his eyes held the same gentle concern I remembered.

"How do you feel?" he asked. "Any dizziness? Headache?"

"I'm well," I assured him.

He stepped closer. “You nearly died yesterday."

"I'm stronger than I look," I said, then gestured to the space beside me on the wall. "Will you sit with me?"

Heath hesitated, his gaze darting toward the distant farm buildings. "If someone saw..."

"No one comes to the far pasture but me. Fletcher made that quite clear." I patted the stone wall again. "Please."

After a moment's consideration, Heath moved out of the forest's shelter and settled beside me on the wall. Up close, I could see details I had missed in the cottage. His pointed ears twitched at every small sound, and he kept his fingers curled inward as if trying to hide his claws.

"I brought you something," I said, reaching into my bag. "A thank you, for saving my life."

I held out the book of poetry, and Heath's eyes widened with surprise. He took it carefully, his large hands dwarfing the slim volume.

"Tennyson," he murmured, running a clawed finger along the spine. "I haven't read him in years."

"I noticed you had quite a collection of books in your home," I said. "You seemed like someone who would appreciate poetry."

Heath's mouth quirked in what might have been a smile.

"My mother taught me to read. She believed knowledge was the one thing that could never be taken away.

" His expression grew distant. "She had many books.

Poetry, philosophy, natural sciences. She said understanding the world through words was as important as understanding it through experience. "

"She sounds like a remarkable woman."

"She was." Heath opened the book carefully, pages falling open to a poem marked with a pressed flower. "Do you have a favorite among Tennyson's works?"

"My father always loved 'Ulysses,'" I said.

"He said it reminded him that there was always more to discover in the world, even when life seemed settled.

" I smiled at the memory. "He believed education was important for a woman, even if society would have preferred I use it only for polite conversation. "

"Do you prefer polite conversation to clearing stones?" Heath asked.

I laughed. "My father always said hard work builds character. Though I'm not sure this is quite what he had in mind."

"What changed your mind?” Heath asked gently. “About society life, I mean."

I had not bothered to share my past with the other girls, but I found myself wanting to answer Heath honestly. I felt compelled to share something of myself with this strange, kind creature who had saved my life.

"My father died in the war," I said quietly.

"The book belonged to him. He loved poetry.

He said it helped him understand the world better.

My mother died when I was young, so it was just the two of us for years.

After he was conscripted and killed..." I paused, gathering my thoughts.

"London felt empty. I was living with my aunt and uncle, and they made it quite clear I was a burden.

I needed something real, something that mattered. "

Heath was quiet for a long moment. "I'm sorry," he said finally. "For your loss."

"Thank you." I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. "What about you? Have you always lived alone in the forest?"

"Not always." Heath closed the book carefully, cradling it in his large hands. "But for many years now. It's... safer that way."

"Safer for whom?"

"For everyone." His amber eyes met mine. "People fear what they don't understand, Alice."

"You don't seem frightening to me," I said.

His lips twitched like he was trying not to smile. "You're braver than most."

"Or more foolish," I said with a smile.

We stared at each other for a moment before Heath abruptly stood. “I should go.”

I nodded. “I should get back to work.” I sighed and began gathering my things.

Heath watched me, but he made no move to leave. "Alice..."

"Yes?"

"Thank you.”

I glanced at him.

“For the book,” he continued. “It's been... a long time since anyone gave me a gift."

The quiet sadness in his voice made my chest tighten. "You're welcome. Maybe we could discuss it sometime? I'd like to hear your thoughts."

Heath’s lips curved into a smile. "I would like that very much."

As I returned to work, Heath melted back into the forest shadows. But I could feel him there, watching over me. The thought warmed me more than the afternoon sun.

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