Page 77 of The Moorwitch

He concludes his thorough examination with a gentle stroke through the hair at my temples. By now my neck is hot, and I can feel sweat tracing down my spine. I realize I’ve stopped breathing, my stomach drawn taut as bowstring, and it seems something more than just his hand is holding me in place.

Something warm and fluttering behind my rib cage.

Something that terrifies me down to the toes curling in my faerie shoes.

“See?” I whisper. “I did not lie.”

“Aye, but I had to know,” he murmurs, his hand against my neck, the hot pad of his thumb on the soft, sensitive skin below my ear.

“Are you satisfied, laird, or is there more of me youhaveto search?”

His gaze drops to the low neckline of my faerie gown, his fingers tightening ever so slightly on my hip. My heart flutters treacherously, and I inhale the snowdrop-scented air, my beaded bodice glinting as it rises and falls with my shallow breaths. I watch his face as his lips part and a low, soft sigh rumbles in his chest.

Then he pulls back, releasing my waist and rubbing his thumb over his fingertips, as if they’ve gone numb from pinning me against the doorframe for so long.

Breathless and flushed, I rake my hair over my shoulder, smoothing it out. “Is it my turn now? Who is the Briar King? What is your business with the fae? Wouldyoulike to have a sit under the truth knot?”

There is another question pressing against my teeth, but I bite it back.Why did you kiss me a second time?

He glances away, his mouth twisting. “I didn’t want to question you. But I have a job to do, and I had to know if you were any threat to my family. I’m sorry, but I can’t let anything, or anyone, put Sylvie in danger.” Before I can ask another question, he slips out the door, rubbing his palm on the rough plaid of his kilt. “I’ll leave you to tidy yourself up. Your old clothes are folded by the bed. Leave the gown and other fae things here—I cannae have Sylvie asking questions about them. And don’t dawdle. Breakfast will be served soon, and Mrs. MacDougal will be expecting you.”

I clear my throat, my head still spinning. “Where areyouoff to?”

“I must patrol the estate.”

He looks so weary, his eyes dogged by shadow.

“How long has it been since you slept?” I ask, in a slightly gentler tone.

He leans in the doorway, every bit of his exhaustion evident in his face and his limp. “I have a duty to perform. My feelings about it are quite irrelevant. You would not understand.”

I do understand, as he would know if his truth knot had been more successful. Though I would not call my obligation to Lachlan aduty, his will nevertheless binds my own. He drives me half mad with his surly attitude and his prejudiced ideas, but I suspect I understand Conrad North more than he could possibly imagine.

“Is this about the fire-bears?”

“Aye, if you must know. Someone is testing the border, trying to get in. I must find out who, and how many they are.”

“Why—?”

“Enough.” He glares at me irritably. “If you know what’s good for you, lass, you’ll march yourself down to Blackswire and take the first coach back to London.”

“What?”

He drops a coin purse into my palm. “That will cover your fare and beyond.”

“You want to get rid of me?”

He looks away, his face taut. “The queen of the faeries knows your name. You’ve seen her realm; you know where her doorway stands. So now you must get as far away from here as possible. She is not to be trifled with.”

“You’re saying goodbye.”

He stares at me, his eyes weary. “I will walk with you back to Ravensgate, and then, Rose Pryor, aye. We must say goodbye.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Lachlan is not in the castle when I step out of the portal tapestry that afternoon, and I find myself instead surrounded by a dozen blinking fae, all lying about on sofas and carpets, still half asleep despite the fact it’s nearly noon. It strikes me then how different they are from their kin in the World Below, in their coats and shoes and cravats, however fantastically adorned with lace and gems; as different as dogs from wolves. I think of what Lachlan told me about them having sojourned in the human world too long, and now I see what he meant.

Remembering what happened the last time I set foot here, I put my hand on my skirt, feeling the weight of the iron snuffer beneath it. But I see no sign of the faerie who attacked me, and no others come reaching for my throat.