Page 8 of The Wind and the Wild (The Keepers of Faerie #1)

H eart leaping, I step away. He blinks and catches what must be my frightened expression, and his own relaxes, though tension remains.

“ You found these by themselves? There was blood?”

“ Yes . . . Are they dangerous?

He turns back to the page. “ Yes. But not to you.”

I’m not sure if his words are meant to comfort me.

Fae cannot lie, can they? So, they must not be dangerous to me.

Unless he is mistaken and only believes he is telling the truth—I do not know if such a thing is possible.

He leans against the table, other hand on the grip of his walking cane, looking over the book once more.

Ink-black hair spills over his shoulders, longer than my own.

Mine was hacked off a few years back, so it isn’t as full as it could’ve been.

Otherwise, he is utterly still once more, just the occasional muscle shifting as he appears to bite the inside of his cheek in thought.

He looks... human enough, though when taken in all at once, it is rather obvious he is not.

A set of individual mortal features does not a mortal make.

Finally, he shifts the page, turning it to check the other side before closing the heavy cover. All at once, I have his full attention, and this is not where I wanted to be.

“ Bring them here,” he says.

I blink. “ What?”

“ You can bring them here tomorrow. They won’t eat of mortal foods. I can care for them.”

“ Oh.” It’s an easier solution than I expected.

When I don’t know what else to say, he clarifies, “ If I frighten you, you may leave them at the bottom of the stairs so you do not have to see me.”

His lip quirks, and I wish I weren’ t so obvious. Perhaps if I were braver I would be able to better trade words with a faerie. On the other hand, perhaps it is well enough he think me fragile and too stupid to hold a conversation—there is less opportunity to anger him.

“ All right,” I whisper, because I am still staring and don’t want him to think me rude.

Rather suddenly, he cracks a smile. “ You think I am trying to trick you.”

“ Occurred to me, yes,” I say, then put my palm over my mouth.

“ I am not,” he says slowly, as if I’m not bright enough to catch it. “ You are free to leave.”

Fae must tell the truth, but they can also change their minds.

I nod, unable to stop a glance at the cane he leans against. His clothes, now visible in the daylight, are lovely if simple, a drapery of fine fabric, embroidered in places, but mostly an unassuming pale tunic and dark pants.

The shirt is open around the neck, and I can see the uninterrupted line of his throat.

He is prettier than any man has the right to be, and I feel my face heat despite what I know of fae—they are vain, they are gorgeous, and they will ensnare humans if given half the chance.

He has been given more than half a chance.

When I realize he’s still staring, he looks me up and down pointedly, blinking as if to say, Would you like to look me over further? A faint curl remains on his lips.

“ Do you need help?” I blurt before I can stop myself, not realizing the words are out until the amusement falls from his face.

“ If you were capable of such a thing,” he says, looking to the tree, “ I would be quite impressed.”

The dismissal is there in his tone, his body language, rippling off him. I can practically taste his discomfort in the air.

Is Faerie having an impact on me? I shouldn’t remain here.

Glancing at the book, I think of asking if I can take it with me, but it’s no use. I’ll bring the kittens to him tomorrow, and then there won’t be any reason for it. I have not dismissed the idea he will grow angry with me for some unforeseen slight.

“ Thank you,” I whisper, and think about curtsying, but it would look awfully ridiculous in my old dress meant for traipsing around the woods. Instead, I scurry to the stairs, glancing back to see him running a finger over the spine of the book and not paying me any mind.

As quietly as I can, I take the honey and bread and pie from the basket and set them on the nearest empty shelf, where he will see if he turns, and flee with the empty basket back out the library and through the honeysuckle.

On the mortal side of the woods, I stop at the edge of the village and stare as close to the sun as I can until my eyes ache.

I walk straight past the houses without bothering to hide in the trees or speak to anyone.

Depositing the basket back in the kitchen, I pace before checking on the sleeping kittens.

Nothing is to be done for them—in fact, I shall take them back this afternoon, for they have gone much too long without proper food as it is—so I stare out the window over the kitchen counter, out at the path leading to the cluster of cottages.

From here, I can just see the house they’re rethatching, the shirtless backs of the men in the sun, the flashes of women’s hair or their airy scarves covering their necks from the burn of the spring heat.

My heartbeat is slow under my palm, though it feels strained in my chest. My breath hitches, though I don’t know why.

Humans are not meant for Faerie, certainly not for long.

But that was not long. That was not even an hour.

There is nothing wrong with what I did. Eating their food is nothing, interacting with them without giving your name is nothing.

Terrifying, but nothing. He did not curse me or ensnare me or even play a trick on me—cut my hair or tear my dress or any other such cruel and nonpermanent ways of frightening.

I rub my hands together and watch the village work.

“ Back in the bright sun,” I mumble, then head out the door. “ I have been in and out of Faerie a hundred and more times. It is nothing.”

It is Athol’s house they are rethatching, and I join the other women cutting and binding the thatch.

Una waves at me from the well, where she’s collecting water for the men up on the roof.

Niall is taking a break with two of the other men his age, shirt off, flexing his muscles. He catches my expression and laughs, head thrown back. I roll my eyes.

Emma passes by, and I keep my eyes on the straw, focusing on the sweet dried smell of it, the roughness of the twine beneath my fingers.

The world no longer smells of dust and honeysuckle, but my dress does, as does the lock of hair that falls from its braid and over my eyes.

By the afternoon, sweat is trickling down the back of my dress and through my hair, and I feel better, more grounded.

While I’m busy splashing ice-cold well water over my hair, I consider telling Una and Niall what I snuck off to do when I claimed I was going to nap.

Only a few hours ago I was looking into those silver hawk’s eyes and thinking I should have left my friends a note so they would know where I disappeared to.

Now I am only going back to drop the kittens off. It is nothing particularly threatening. He found me a little pathetic and stupid perhaps, and certainly not hostile. I won’t even see him, as he suggested. I’ll leave the helpless creatures on the top of the dusty staircase and leave.

And I shall not go into Faerie again unless I am collecting berries and flowers, and never again shall I lose my way near the great hawthorn.

I find a pair of arms weaving around me from behind, and Una rocks us a little. “ You’re sweaty.”

“ Mmm.”

“ Have a nap?”

I sigh. “ No, but I’m feeling better.”

I will deliver the kittens, then I shall tell them, when there’s no more upcoming danger for them to fret over.

Remembering Niall searching for me in the evening, I breathe around the tight feeling of knowing the two of them love me, that they would wander up to the edge of Faerie for me.

I give Una’s hands a squeeze and return to washing as much of the sweat from my arms and neck as I can get without drenching my poor dress.

“ Want to help me with my midsummer dress?” Una asks, voice far away.

Glancing sidelong at her, I find her holding an empty water bucket in her hands, looking back at the house. I follow her gaze and find Niall still shirtless and returning to bouncing around with his friends. The man can thatch a house and still be full of energy.

“ Boys,” I mumble.

“ Mm-hmm, ” Una hums, still running her eyes across every inch of him.

I try my best not to laugh. “ I cannot believe I’m the only one who notices.”

“ Shh! ” She swats at me and misses with her eyes still on him. “ He’s going to be my dance partner at midsummer. He’ll put flowers in my hair, and everyone will know.”

I smile at the tradition, weaving my arm back through hers. “ A hopeless romantic, as always.”

“ Who’s going to dance with you?”

“ Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps I’ll steal you.”

She giggles but doesn’t press the subject. Running back to my cottage, I change into something less dirty and sweat soaked while she waits in the garden. The kittens are still asleep, one yawning widely when I pet its ear.

“ A few more hours,” I mumble. When I can get away from Una without being suspicious.

After I have returned the kittens, I shall tell her. After.

A few more hours, and my fingers are sore from helping Una with her dress—which is admittedly gorgeous, and I’ll be proud to see her wear it and know I helped—but it’s a while before late afternoon yet, and I can confidently declare I want to fix dinner before evening.

With several hours to think it over, and more time while I’m cooking, I tell myself this isn’t such a foolish idea.

No one can be angered by being offered food.

I think of his eyes and his strange clothing, but more so whatever he was hiding under them.

What can wound a faerie? His hand, leaning too much on the cane when he was lost looking at the book instead of me. And he is there alone.

Are they vulnerable to their own monsters?