The sound of hurried scuffling filled the room, then ended with a soft thump of the door.
“There is no one here but yerself and I now, lass,” Gryffe said. “And I mean to stay and help ye wrestle yer demons until they choose to leave ye in peace.”
She pulled the pillow off her head and hugged it to her chest, keeping her back to him. It was better that she not face him. She couldn’t think straight whenever she looked into his eyes. “Is there another room I can have?”
“Why?”
She rolled her eyes, knowing he couldn’t see since he was sitting behind her on the bed. “This is your room.”
“’Tis a big fine room. We can share it.”
“So, you can boot me out whenever you find your one? No, thank you.”
He caught hold of her arm and rolled her to face him. Eyes flashing with some kind of unholy black fire, he glared at her. “I would never do that to ye.”
“You say that now because she’s not here.” A strange numbness settled within her, right where her heart used to be, and she welcomed it. “I have been thrown away before and didn’t much like it. I may make a lot of stupid choices in my life, but setting myself up to be tossed out again is not one of them.”
Face flaring red with rage, he bared his teeth and actually growled, becoming more of a great, dark beast than a man. “Who threw ye away? Who dared treat ye with such disrespect?”
Touched by his protective, righteous indignation, she couldn’t even fathom why she had brought it up. She never talked about that time in her life. It was better left to the shadows. Even her family knew the topic was off limits. Why had she spewed out her past like it tasted bad? “It doesn’t matter. It was a long time ago.”
He pulled her closer and took her hand. “It matters because it hurt ye, and ye still carry that pain. Tell me. Give me the weight of yer misery so it will vex ye no more. My back is strong, my shoulders broad. I can bear yer burdens with ease.”
As much as she didn’t want to, as much as she knew better, she weakly allowed herself to sink into his gaze. “I swore I would never say his name again. Not after he left me when I told him I was pregnant. I mean to keep that promise to myself.”
Gryffe’s furious glower hardened even more, if that was possible. His eyes slowly narrowed. “Getting back to yer child—that is what pulls at ye, drives ye to return to yer time?”
She slowly shook her head, allowing the sadness she had carried for the past four years to surface and bloom. She and the sadness had an agreement—it went with her, stayed with her every day, and she embraced it as a painful yet precious memory she would never forget. “No,” she whispered. “I can never get back to her, because she is not there.” She swallowed hard and managed a shrug. “The doctor called it a miscarriage, but the nurses said stillbirth. And I got to hold her before they took her away. Either way, my daughter didn’t live for longer than a few precious hours.”
Gryffe bowed his head. “I am so verra sorry.”
“So am I. For the rest of my life.”
Before she realized what he was doing, he pulled her into his arms and held her. After a tender kiss to her forehead, he whispered, “What is yer dear child’s name, my ember?”
No one had ever asked her that before. Her parents and Jessa knew because they had gone with her to order the small, heart-shaped headstone for the grave. “Her name is Cara. It means dearest.” It felt so strange to say it aloud.
“An eternal candle shall be lit for her in the MacStrath tombs. I will show ye the place, so ye can visit with her whenever ye like.”
The knot of unhappiness and irrational sense of failure she had carried tucked in her heart since losing her child loosened the slightest bit, a shocking first for her. Her entire being warmed, and she breathed easier. The old familiar sadness was still there, but somehow, it was more bearable, maybe even a little bit at peace, as if somehow settled and content. She didn’t know why, and she didn’t care. For once in her life, she just accepted the relief for what it was.
“Thank you,” she whispered, knowing that no matter what happened, no matter if he kicked her out of the keep tomorrow, she would always love Gryffe MacStrath with all her heart. She swallowed hard at the realization, then almost laughed. She had known it for a while now, but this last act of kindness had obliterated her every denial and made her admit it. “You are a good man, Gryffe MacStrath, and I’m so glad you were the one my botched spell chose.”
He shifted against her with a heavy sigh. “I am glad yer botched spell dropped ye in Avric’s path, as well.” Ever so gently, he set her away from him, studying her while slowly shaking his head.
“What?”
“I could always sense Nicnevin’s glamours on all the others. Smelled her magic, even. Everyone’s mystical energy has a distinct aroma that canna be hidden or disguised. But I canna find it on ye. No trace at all. Nothing but the rich, sweet warmth of yer own essence.” The corner of his mouth almost twitched upward, the nearest she had ever seen him come to a smile. “Ye possess the mouthwatering fragrance of Cook’s best caramel or warmed honey right as ye mix it with fresh butter, but ye dinna smell of Nicnevin’s magic.”
“That is because I have yet to have the pleasure of meeting this lovely creature you currently have in your bed.”
“Shit!” Emily scrambled backward until she hit the headboard and couldn’t retreat any farther to escape the towering column of inky black mist rising up and swirling at the foot of the bed. “It’s Morrigan! She’s found me! Run, Gryffe! Save yourself.”
“Morrigan? I should say not. I am the incomparable Nicnevin, Queen of the Dark Fae, goddess of magic and witches, and beloved mother to this darling boy who always manages to surprise me even though I am all knowing.” The roiling mist solidified into a tall, shapely woman dressed in a gown of the blackest silk or some sort of diaphanous veil-like material that clung to her curves. Her flowing black hair was loose and trailed down well past her waist, but was kept at bay by a gleaming silver diadem that rested on her brow and circled her head in a crown of silvery branches. She held her hands aloft and smiled at Gryffe. “I thought this form would be the least frightening for yer lady. Are ye not going to introduce us?”
“Ye said ye were all knowing.”
Emily hugged her knees to her chest and tried to stop shaking. This being might not be Morrigan, but she was just as unsettling. “I’m Emily Mithers. From the twenty-first century and a reality that’s a great deal more normal than this one.”
