Page 55 of Under Gorse and Stone

“You had best feed that monster before it consumes the world.” He offers me a very formal bow, taking off his hat and flourishing it before me. “Cary, I shall see you again.”

“Is that a promise or a threat?” Sigurd says waspishly and then gives the tiny creature his usual kind smile. “You honour my house with your presence, piskey.”

“Really?” Wilfred asks with a lively curiosity.

“No, but it sounded nice.”

The piskey gives a hearty chuckle, and then there’s a crack, and he vanishes, a trail of sparks twinkling for a few seconds in the air before disappearing.

Sigurd turns to me, and my belly warms at the soft expression on his face. “You slept well, Cary?”

“Is that a question or an observation?”

His mouth twitches. “’Tis merely a statement coming from the recipient of your snores.”

“Oh my god, I don’tsnore,” I say, fighting laughter.

“Cary, I have lived for centuries and been in the thick of battles with all their chaos and noise, yet your snores were still louder.”

I give up and break into laughter. “Oh, shut up.”

He comes closer, taking my chin in his big hand and staring into my eyes. This close, I can see the coppery flecks in his. He smiles and drops a kiss on my mouth. It’s soft and so affectionate that it makes me feel a bit funny. It’s such a stark contrast to the way he is during sex, when he’s wild and deliciously forceful.

He settles down to sit cross-legged on the bed, watching me with a merry look on his face. His hair is loose over his shoulders, some of it gathered in a small plait on the side, givinghim a Viking appearance. I’ve seen men wear this hairstyle, but I’d bet none of them were actually around when it first became fashionable. He’s wearing jeans and a T-Rex concert T-shirt from 1976. The shirt appears old enough to be genuine, and I’m reminded again of how old this man, who looks like a student, actually is.

“Do you ever age?” I ask.

He smiles. “Ah, we have begun the day’s questions. Could you give me a few seconds to prepare?”

“I’m only sorry my sleep interrupted them.”

He laughs and then sobers. “When we reach the age of twenty-five, our ageing process stops.”

“Really?”

He nods. “We stay the same then, for good or bad. You can imagine it can cause problems amongst humans, so we tend to retreat into our halls at intervals.”

“And what do you do there?”

“One such time I taught myself to cook.”

“I’mverythankful for that,” I say fervently and his mouth twitches.

“Other times we read, we sleep, and if we are fortunate, we hear poetry and plays on the breeze.”

I cock my head. “But you’re out and about now. What caused that?”

He shrugs. “Who knows? Mayhap I just awoke.” His words are casual, but there’s something concealed beneath them. I sense deep emotion, but I know already that he’s not going to tell me about it. Fair enough. I don’t appreciate people who pry as if they’re entitled to your secrets—like they can turn you upside down and shake you until they come tumbling out.

I opt for an easy question instead. “Does that mean you’re going back to teaching again?”

He stretches his long torso, the muscles beneath his thin T-shirt visible. “Mayhap I will. It is perhaps time.” He lowers his arms. “But that is in the future. I am more eager to explore my time with you,elskling.”

“It’s only a few days until Christmas Eve,” I say regretfully.

“Then we must make the best of it.”

“So, what are we doing today? Breakfast?” I ask hopefully.