At first she simply blinked at him, then she laughed, like a child laughed from deep within their belly, filling Callan with warmth.
“You’re funny.”
Daisy nodded to herself. “I believe fate puts people in our paths for a reason. My mother told me that my grandmother was a hippie. She used to pick up hitchhikers all the time. I guess more of her than my mom rubbed off on me. My mom gets so distracted, she’d never even notice a hitchhiker, let alone pick one up.”
She eyed him up and down. “You’re not going to murder me in my bed or post weird pictures of my feet online, are you?”
For a moment he blinked at her, making sense of the words.
“Nay. I am no murderer. I know not of these feet pictures.” He had killed men, but only when necessary or in self-defense, so nay, he was no murderer.
Daisy stood, brushing off her hose as the dog jumped up, tail wagging, the soft fur brushing across Callan’s bare knees.
She pointed. “Frankie can be very ferocious when provoked. You better remember that.”
The dog, tongue lolling, let out a happy bark. When the fetching lass turned to go, his shoulders slumped until she looked over her shoulder with a grin, waving him towards her.
“Are you coming or not?”
Callan leapt to his feet, plaid swinging. “Aye, wherever you lead, I will follow.”
They walked side by side as he watched the dog sniffing everything around them.
The fae touched lass held the blue leash, the silver rings on her fingers glinting in the fading sun.
“Where are we going?” Callan liked how her eyes sparkled when she talked, how she moved her hands in the air as if trying to hurry the words from her mouth to let them loose into the world.
“My place. It isn’t much, but it’s home. I’m all for helping a fellow Renaissance Faire lover.”
His brows rose, but remembering how Lucy did not think it strange to share a room with him, he kept his mouth shut, knowing he must fit in here in this odd land with its strange customs.
“I thank ye, lass.”
Mayhap this woman might know a real witch or a faerie? Then he could finally go home. Hope bloomed in his soul.
Callan would find his way through the centuries across time to Blackford and his newfound family, though it was too bad he would not be able to spend more time with the enchanting lass.
CHAPTER 6
Callan looked around, curious, as the lass invited him into her home. ’Twas in a tall building made of bricks, and much larger and grander than the small hovel he’d lived in as a wee lad, though it was nothing like the fearsome stones of Blackford Castle.
The building comprised three floors and was called an apartment, as multiple homes shared a single floor, each contained within the extensive building.
“I know. It’s small, but there’s plenty of room for Frankie and I … and now you.”
She hung the leash on a peg beside the door, dropped her shiny keys into a wooden bowl, and took off her shoes, padding barefoot across the scarred wooden floors.
He did the same, wincing at the odor wafting up from his feet after wearing his boots for so long.
“Nay, lass. Yer home is verra grand.” He looked around, seeing an enormous stack of dishes piled in the sink, and through an archway, he noticed the unmade bed. The lass was verra messy with no servants to pick up after her.
She caught him staring and blushed. “I don’t have a housekeeper, and cleaning isn’t high on my list of priorities.”
With a shrug, she took a few steps to the kitchen, took a cup made of fine glass from a cabinet and offered him water so cold it made his teeth ache. The lass filled a bowl with water for the dog, then poured herself water as well.
“It’s a studio.” She gestured around at the space, her rings flashing in the light.
There was one large room with an archway separating the sleeping room from a space where she must have spent most of her time, judging from the piles that were everywhere. Another archway led to a small, bright kitchen.
