Page 49 of The Moorwitch

If he had, I would have slapped him.

Wouldn’t I?

Yes, yes. I’d have definitely slapped him. I definitely wouldnothave kissed him back. I am a respectable schoolteacher, and respectable schoolteachers simply do not go about kissing abominable Scotsmen with wool for brains and logs for biceps.

“Thank you, Mr. North.”

“I wish you’d call me Conrad,” he says. “Surely I’ve earned at least that, having saved you from a horrid drowning?”

I give an unmannerly snort.

Ignoring the stove, he hangs the kettle over the coals instead. Then he towels his hair before removing his shoes and stockings. His damp hair is already beginning to dry and curl. He pulls his shirt out of his trousers and wrings it, wincing at the puddle it makes on the hearth. His bare feet are pale on the stone, and for some reason, the sight of them makes me flush. I step closer to the fire.

“I’ll take care of the water,” he says, nodding at the puddles we’ve made. “I shudder to think of the questions Mrs. MacDougal might lob at me otherwise.”

I let out a laugh, and he looks up.

“I think she dislikes me,” I say. “Nearly as much as you do.”

He glances at me, his storm-cloud eyes widening a fraction. For a moment, he seems at a loss for words.

“I don’t dislike you,” he says at last.

“Really?” I give a very unrespectable snort. “The day we met, I knocked you off your horse and gave you what seems to be a permanent limp.”

He frowns, then thumps his leg. “What, this? This is an old injury. Not your doing.”

“Oh. Well ... what about later that night? You caught me red handed, snooping through your house.”

“True, but I wasn’t exactly gracious about it. You may be surprised to learn we don’t get many visitors here, particularly of the female nature. My manners were—are—a bit rough at the edges. I am in fact aware of my shortcomings, whatever you may think of me. I know you consider me a monster.”

“I ... never used that word,” I say carefully. “I have known monsters, Mr. ... Conrad. And I do not think you quite fit the bill. But youaremaking a terrible mistake with Sylvie.”

He doesn’t reply, but gives me a sharp sidelong look, no doubt afraid I’ll revive our argument. But what’s the point? He isn’t going to change his mind. He thinks he is doing what is best by his sister. How can I make him understand that magic isn’t a curse, but a gift?

But I’m not here to get involved with these people. I keep forgetting that. No matter how much they need it, I cannot help them if I cannot even help myself. And pushing him further will only incite him to retract his hospitality to me, and what help would I be to Sylvie then?

So I keep my mouth shut, my teeth grinding together.

The kettle whistles, and Conrad removes it to pour our teas. I hold my cup close with both hands, soaking in its warmth. He finds a wool blanket somewhere and holds it up inquiringly, and with a nod, I let him drape it over my shoulders, replacing his now-damp coat. He wraps himself in another and sits on the hearth, back to the fire, his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. The dog gives a little soft whine and lays his head on his master’s foot.

I briefly consider telling him the truth: that I am bound to a faerie, losing my magic, trying desperately to complete a nearly impossible task in too short a time.

But how would that induce him to trust me more? If he knew the truth, he would only sink deeper into his conviction that Sylvie shouldn’t learn to Weave. Even knowing she endangered herself trying to channel, he will not change his mind.

For her sake, I cannot come clean. At least, not until I’ve concluded Lachlan’s favor and freed myself from him for good.

After a long moment, Conrad looks up.

“I love her more than anything in the world,” he says quietly. “I just want to keep her safe.”

I meet his eyes, seeing that every word is true, even if I can’t agree with his methods of showing it. “Loving someone isn’t only about knowing what’s best for them. It’s about letting them choose their own fate.”

“Choice is a luxury.” He grimaces. “Believe me, if I had another choice ... but I am not unbound and free as the wind as you are. Some of us are bound by duties we cannot escape, our lives lived in debts we can never fully pay.”

I swallow a bitter laugh. “I think I know more of your duties and debts than you may believe.”

He gives me a curious look, which I return. He is hiding something. I am sure of it now. Neither of us is telling the whole truth. For a moment, his lips part and I think he will pry deeper into my words.