Page 54 of Under Gorse and Stone

“Oh no,don’t,” I jerk out.

“Why not?”

“It isn’t very polite.” I quickly change the subject. “So, why are you here, and I know it’s not for my stupendous locks and seaside eyes.”

He waves a careless hand. “Ah, the piskey community is curious about you.”

“Why?”

He opens his mouth to reply and then shuts it again. After a moment, he says in an offhand manner, “We are a nosy race. Anyway, I promised an exact accounting of your condition.” He laughs lustily. “And my, you look as if you were eaten alive. Did the dragon go without his supper and feast on you instead?”

I look down at the love bites that are strewn across my torso. One big one stretches down towards my groin, and I adjust the sheets. “Well, it was nice of you to visit,” I say briskly. “Maybe next time reserve a slot in the day when I’m likely to be wearing clothes.”

“Ah, I do not think the dragon will allow that awful state of affairs to happen very much. Anyway, I suppose it is always nice for you to see me.” I laugh, and he smiles up at me. Then he stretches out his legs and admires his shoes. The buckles are so highly polished that they sparkle with a brilliant shine.

“I like your shoes,” I say.

He preens a little, his weathered face happy. “Thankee. My grandfather always said that tidy feet lead to a tidy mind.”

“Is that true?”

He shrugs. “He died riding a snail, so sometimes I doubt his wisdom.” I blink, and he turns to me, wagging a tiny finger. “But tell no one that. 'Tis our secret.”

“I shall take it to the grave,” I say solemnly.

I hear the sound of a door opening, followed by footsteps coming down the corridor.

Wilfred winks at me. “And so I went to Boscastle and found a brewer of beer,” he says in a breathless voice. “But the beer was bad, and I had a fearful headache for weeks. And then my cousin bought some ribbons from a fae trader and?—"

“Wait.” I narrow my eyes at him. “You don’t always talk so quickly and full of rubbish, do you?” I whisper.

His grin shows all his little sharp teeth. “Ah, Cary. The dragon told you that piskies love mischief. He is naïve enough to think we only practice it on humans.”

“You’re very naughty.” I’m fighting the urge to laugh.

He chuckles. “And it is such fun to watch him open and shut that big mouth of his, unable to think what to say.” The door starts to open, and he launches into more of his monologue. “The ribbons were too gaudy, and my aunt said only a light-skirted piskey would wear such a thing.”

Sigurd peers around the door. He gives a beaming smile when he sees me, but then he sighs wearily. “Oh no. Why are you here, annoying piskey?”

“He’s visiting,” I say primly.

Sigurd groans. “Why are we suddenly on your visiting list, Wilfred? Surely there is someone far more deserving of your company.”

Wilfred cocks his head. “Someone who has done as much good for the community as you, I warrant.”

“No,” Sigurd snaps. “Someone who has done a lot worse.”

I can’t help but laugh, and he looks at me, his whole face lighting up. “Such a lovely sound,” he says and shoots an irritated look at the piskey. “Much nicer than your voice.”

Wilfred stands up. “I thought to see Cary this morning.”

“Why?” Sigurd asks rather warily.

The piskey shrugs. “Is he not worth looking at every morning?”

“Yes, and much too nice a person to be subjected to your chatter before he breaks his fast.”

As if on cue, my stomach rumbles, and Wilfred gives a merry laugh.