Page 50 of The Wind and the Wild (The Keepers of Faerie #1)
T he fire has died, and only coals shimmer among the bricks, but the room remains warm.
Now that I’ve woken with my head clearer but my body upset with me, I notice the utter and complete quiet of this place.
The kittens are asleep, one of them purring.
Aidyn seems to be as well, as he made no remark when I yawned, and his breath tickles my ear without sound.
I’ve no intention of moving, not only because my body feels twice the weight it should, but because somehow, in some way, at some time in the night, I ended up tucked back into the mattress, and Aidyn’s arm is draped heavily over me.
His chest is pressed to my back. I’m not yet awake enough to be embarrassed.
I am, however, aware than Una and Niall are going to murder me. Banshees would be less a threat.
Heaving a sigh, I nearly start when Aidyn mumbles, “ Are you well?”
“ My friends shall be quite cross with me,” I tell him, finally shy now I know he’s also awake.
“ Ah.” He doesn’t move his arm.
Smug creature.
But I am not ready to simply run—or limp, unfortunately—into the mortal trees, not after glancing about at the mess we made last night and not knowing the state of him now that he’s gotten some sleep.
There were no dreams last night. I suppose utter and complete exhaustion will do such a thing.
An image of the Unblessed woman’s face merely passed through my mind the moment I woke. The gray light filtering through the window chased it away soon enough.
Sitting myself up as if his arm does not drop to my lap in the process, I sit on the mattress and stare at the wall, considering if I truly want to get my feet under me.
“’Tis not morning there yet,” he slurs, still sleepy.
“ What do you mean?”
“ The sun rises earlier here. Then sometimes later. Or time works different.” He makes a noncommittal motion with his hand before letting it flop back onto the covers. “ Whichever. The sun might not be up yet.”
“ You did not tell me that.”
He cracks an eye. “ I thought to. Then I thought that you might be showing up earlier and getting yourself eaten. Seemed safe enough letting you keep up with your normal times and come later.”
I fold my arms at him.
“ The fact you’re giving me that little scowl means I was quite correct.”
I roll my eyes and manage not to smile. He’s correct, but I don’t have to tell him so. I should’ve known, given the strangeness of the setting sun. Taking Aidyn’s cane, I poke at the discarded bandages and shirt, thinking of the best way to get them washed and drying without walking very much.
“ No,” he says.
I send him a look.
“ You do not need to do that. I will. Eat something before you return to your friends. I will have too much time to do little things like that.”
I continue to give him my best, most level stare possible.
“ I am feeling much better,” he says, his expression not as even, instead quite amused.
He can’t be lying. Squinting, I try to figure how he might be dancing around the truth with such a blunt statement.
When nothing comes into my heavy, sleepy head, I ignore him and stoke the fire to life.
My cheeks are still warm, as if I have not moved out from the weight of his arm.
I feel the ghost of his touch over my shoulders and on my lips and go about straightening the mess the kittens made of the plums they ate, sorting through the many remaining for the best ones to attempt a pie.
I am going home, but I will be returning.
I must see to his wounds again. And as long as I am here, I may as well bake, given that midsummer is only days away.
Someone is going to think I was accosted in the woods , I think, glancing at my torn dress, speckled with dirt and red splatters from the plums but which looks considerably worse.
Rubbing my shoulders, I ask, “ Did you eat the rest of the mushroom soup I made you?”
“ No. I did not feel well the other day, I fear.”
Grunting, I finally get to my feet and make for the kitchen, suddenly starving.
“ Would you like my cane?” he calls after.
It doesn’t sound like a joke, but I call back a laugh as I hobble down the steps, cursing that stupid creature and the fact I did not wear my boots.
It is quite early, and the wood is silent beneath my bare feet.
Dust hangs in the sunlight. Something jumps between the branches, but I catch the flash of pale blue fur I remember from every brownie I’ve ever seen, and eyes peek out as it chitters at me only to disappear into the rafters.
I must remember to leave some food out for it—perhaps it is too shy to come down otherwise.
When I’ve returned with the soup, Aidyn is sitting and has some of yesterday’s pie halfway into his mouth.
Good, he’s eating. He looks minorly guilty for no reason, watching me set the pot on the fire to boil. Though I was considering reasons why he could be lying, he does appear stronger today, not sitting straight but not sagging quite so much.
All of a sudden, I don’t know what to do with myself.
He appears equally flummoxed and focuses on his pie.
By the way he’s quite pleased with the apple slices, I imagine I could recreate that if the plum pie doesn’t turn out the way I wish.
I know I should still go home early so I can take a slow walk around the trees to my own cottage, but I don’t wish to. I can eat first, at least.
Taking a long breath, I ask the question that came to my mind beside the plum tree. “ Do humans want anything from the fae?”
Pausing with a scrap of piecrust near his lips, Aidyn cocks his head. “ Protection, I suppose. Though as far as I know, that has mostly fallen into prayer. How do you mean?”
“ I’m not sure,” I admit. “ I just had the thought that Bl—er, um, the uh, coward ”—Aidyn makes a face—“might want something from me because I’m constantly going into Faerie, but for the life of me, I don’t know what it would be.”
Chewing slowly, he leans his shoulder against the warm bricks surrounding the hearth, inspecting me with those sharp eyes. Casually, he says, “ I’m not certain. If you told me his name, I could find him in a heartbeat, no matter where he is. I could make him tell me.”
My mouth pops open, and I can’t help the chill that settles over my skin.
He only raises an eyebrow at my expression, unbothered.
I’m not sure which unsettles me more: the reminder of how acute his magic is when given the proper tools and that I am in as much danger if he were to decide he does not like me. ..
Or that I nearly opened my mouth to tell him.
As if sensing this, he says, “ You can think it over.”
Shaking my head—at which part I’m uncertain—I ask, “ But you cannot think of anything?”
Disappointment flickers across his face, but he tells me, “ It is not as if we trade with humans. We have such a specific relationship with your folk, and it is not as equals. I’m sure your kin find anything within our lands more valuable than our own, but other than dipping into the edges to gather food”—he gives me a smirk—“I don’t know what any of you would desire. ”
Besides, so much as crushing an incorrect mushroom can bring down the wrath of the Keepers. Most humans don’t want to step foot in here, let alone attempt to take anything.
“ I don’t suppose he’s interested in a basketful of berries here or there,” I mutter. “ Maybe it has nothing to do with me. I’m being paranoid.”
Aidyn still regards me with those overly intelligent, low-lidded eyes.
I let the topic fade, chilled by the reminder of his magic.
“ I do not wish you to think badly of my kin,” he says quite suddenly, voice low. Maneuvering closer alongside me, hand on his shoulder, he stares at the soup I’m stirring with a long-handled spoon. “ I am very proud to be my father’s. As I said, I am through being a weight upon them.”
Though the statement grates on me, it’s an oddly sweet thing—he is so concerned I may think badly of his family.
Not a surprise. Though there have been a few bouts of anger and frightening expressions, he seems an oddly sweet thing for a creature born of Faerie.
It isn’t as if humans do not have little outbursts when stressed or injured.
His are simply a touch more terrifying. For the most part, he seems kinder than many humans I’ve met.
Whoever they are, they do not deserve him.
“ Why are you not answering?” he asks.
I snort. “ I don’t know how to answer. As I said, I don’t think I’d like it very much at all if my child decided to remove himself by pretending monsters took him. If your father is half as good as you say he is, he must agree.”
He’s quiet until I’ve pulled the pot off the stove—I forgot to bring up bowls, so I pass my spoon to him after blowing away the steam and drinking a salty bite.
Finally, he whispers, “ We are not the same creatures as you. Love means not the same thing.”
He may be correct, but I don’t see why I have to believe so. “ So, you’d think it was good if your son did such a thing?”
He does not answer, simply keeps passing the spoon back and forth, and that, in and of itself, is answer enough.
When I eventually stumble back across the border, cursing to myself at the uneven ground, I find the sun not yet cresting the trees. Some of the village will be awake, but not all. I take a long slow path around to our cottage, listening to Primrose lowing at my approach.
“ Hi, girl,” I say, leaning against her warm broad head. “ I’ll be down in a little bit.”
It’s still early, so I make my way back inside, finding a change of clothes and lighting a fire under the bath.
It will be hot later, but I’m in no mood for cold water.
Gazing into the mirror, I tug off my pretty torn dress, regarding it unhappily.
It isn’t past saving, at least once I wash it.
Staring at the faded bumps of beestings, I let out a long slow breath.
His lips were on my skin.